THE 


FELMEKES 


A    NOVEL. 


BY 

S.     B.     ELLIOTT, 


"Behold  we  know  not  anything: 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last— far  off— at  last  to  all, 
And  every  winter  change  to  spring." 


NEW    YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

549    AND    551    BROADWAY. 
1879. 


COPYRIGHT   BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY, 

1879. 


"  An  immense  solitary  specter  waits : 
It  has  no  shape,  it  has  no  sound ;  it  has 
No  place,  it  has  no  time ;  it  is,  and  was, 
And  will  be ;  it  is  never  more  nor  less, 
Nor  glad  nor  sad.     Its  name  is  Nothingness. 
Power  walketh  high ;  and  misery  doth  crawl ; 
And  the  clepsydron  drips ;  and  the  sands 
Fall  down  in  the  hour-glass ;  and  the  shadows  sweep 
Around  the  dial ;  and  men  wake  and  sleep, 
Live,  strive,  regret,  forget,  and  love  and  hate, 
And  know  it.     This  specter  saith,  I  wait; 
And  at  the  last  it  beckons,  and.  they  pass; 
And  still  the  red  sands  fall  within  the  glass, 
And  still  the  shades  around  the  dial  sweep ; 
And  still  the  water-clock  doth  drip  and  weep. 
And  this  is  all." 


2061723 


THE   FELMERES 


PART   FIRST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  About  a  stone-cast  from  the  wall 

A  sluice  with  blacken'd  waters  slept, 

And  o'er  it,  many,  round,  and  small, 
The  cluster'd  marish  mosses  crept. 

Hard  by  a  poplar  shook  alway, 

All  silver-green  with  gnarled  bark : 
For  leagues  no  other  tree  did  mark 

The  level  waste,  the  rounding  gray." 

A  SQUARE  church  standing  at  the  foot  of  a  low  line 
of  hills;  farther  out,  beyond  the  damp,  moss-grown 
churchyard,  a  lonely  stone  house  built  on  the  end  of  the 
long  tongue  of  land  that  runs  far  into  the  marsh.  From 
this  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  out  even  to  the  line  of 
light  on  the  horizon  where  lies  the  sea,  there  stretches  a 
level  waste  of  marsh — an  unbroken  green  monotony,  save 
where  in  one  place  the  river  shows  itself  moving  slow 
toward  the  sea.  A  barren,  desolate  picture,  lying  hot 
and  shadowless  under  the  glare  of  the  summer  sky.  There 


6  THE  FELMERES. 

is  no  sound  save  now  and  then  the  sharp  quarreling  of 
the  marsh  hens ;  no  motion,  save  the  throbbing  of  the 
heated  air.  There  is  not  wind  enough  to  stir  the  reed 
tops,  or  to  lift  the  leaves  of  the  solitary  maple  keeping 
guard  among  the  sleepers  in  the  churchyard. 

And  the  sun  glares  down  upon  the  still,  dead  picture, 
until  the  day  begins  to  wane ;  then  the  martins  come  in 
crowds  wheeling  about  the  lonely  stone  hall — cheery  little 
martins,  swooping  in  and  out  from  under  the  deep  eaves, 
chattering  and  chirping  to  each  other,  and  making  the 
air  alive  with  their  busy  doings. 

Down  in  the  hall  garden  a  little  child  is  watching 
them — so  intently  that  she  does  not  heed  the  falling  of 
her  hat,  nor  the  woebegone  picture  made  by  her  battered 
doll,  which,  held  by  one  arm,  droops  downward  in  a  deso- 
late manner.  For  a  long  time  the  child  watches  the  queer 
little  birds,  that  look  so  black  against  the  amber  sky,  and 
seem  so  busy  about  nothing.  She  has  often  watched 
them,  but  never  yet  has  found  out  what  they  were  after : 
she  wished  her  father  would  take  her  up  to  see ;  perhaps 
he  would  some  day.  Then  she  turned  away,  and,  push- 
ing open  a  dilapidated  gate,  made  her  way  down  to  the 
marsh.  She  stopped  one  moment  to  gather  up  her  doll, 
then,  with  an  unchildish,  over-thoughtful  step,  followed 
a  narrow  cattle  path  leading  out  to  the  river.  Slowly  she 
went,  and  quietly,  until  she  stood  far  out  on  the  very 
bank  of  the  stream — a  lonely  little  figure  on  the  wide 
green  waste ! 

There  she  stood  and  listened  to  the  gentle  song  the 
river  sang  so  sweetly  all  the  while.  "Where  did  it  come 
from,  and  how  far  was  it  down  to  the  sea  ?  The  sea ! 
"Why  was  that  sad  sound  she  heard  called  the  "sea"? 


THE   FELMERES.  7 

Had  her  father  named  it  ?  It  must  be  a  very  big  place, 
this  sea ;  for  the  sun  and  the  moon,  the  fish  and  the  birds, 
the  wind  and  the  darkness  all  lived  in  it — did  they  not? 
And  the  sound  of  it  fascinated  her — awed  and  almost 
frightened  her;  yet  she  loved  it,  and  often  came  and 
stood  here  upon  the  bank,  mystified  and  wondering. 

There  were  many  things  she  was  afraid  of,  and  but  few 
that  she  liked,  or  that  were  really  amusing,  and  very  few 
of  these  things  could  talk.  Nevertheless,  she  often  spoke 
to  the  gravestones  up  in  the  churchyard,  although  they 
did  not  answer.  What  these  gravestones  were  she  hardly 
knew;  and  why  they  should  be  put  up  in  rows,  some 
straight  up,  and  some  half  buried  in  the  ground,  and 
should  have  names  cut  on  them,  were  so  many  mysteries 
to  her.  They  were  of  no  possible  use  that  she  could  see, 
and  her  father  said  foolish  people  set  them  up.  An 
especial  one  named  "  Mary  Dunn  "  made  her  very  sorry 
—it  looked  so  tired  :  she  wished  it  could  lie  down.  The 
flowers  were  much  more  pleasant  than  the  gravestones, 
for  they  could  nod  their  heads  to  her  when  she  talked ; 
and,  better  still,  the  fairies  lived  in  them.  The  solemn 
cranes  and  the  marsh  hens  that  rested  in  the  flats  were 
not  in  the  least  sociable;  and  the  little  martins  in  the 
roof  heeded  only  themselves  and  their  own  foolish  noises. 
But  the  bitterns  she  liked  to  hear ;  she  was  sure  they  had 
something  to  tell,  their  tones  were  so  sad. 

This  place  her  father  called  "  the  world  "  was  surely 
a  curious  place.  She  would  have  liked  to  ask  some  ques- 
tions of  Peter  or  Jane,  but  her  father  would  not  allow 
her  to  talk  to  the  servants ;  and,  except  them  and  her 
father,  nothing  in  all  her  world  could  answer  questions. 

So  she  stood  by  the  river  and  listened  to  the  dull,  un- 


8  THE  FELMERES. 

ceasing  roar  of  the  sea.  She  did  not  know  what  it  was, 
but  there  was  a  thrill  at  her  heart  and  a  chill  over  her 
body  as  she  looked  on  the  wide  green  waste  spread  all 
about  her.  It  was  so  silent  and  lonely  out  in  the  marsh — 
so  far  from  everywhere !  Should  she  stay  and  watch  the 
moon  come  up  ?  It  came  up  very  early  sometimes,  and 
looked  so  clear  and  beautiful  fresh  out  from  the  sea. 

Ah,  the  sea,  the  sea !  how  it  called  and  called  to  her 
all  the  time !  If  it  would  only  hush,  she  would  stay 
longer  looking  at  the  river.  Or  if  she  could  only  go 
once  and  see  what  it  wanted,  maybe  then  it  would  let  her 
alone.  As  it  was,  who  knew  but  that  the  sea  would  come 
for  her  some  day  when  no  one  was  near?  It  really 
might ! 

She  turned — the  sun  was  fast  going  down  behind  the 
far-off  hills,  and  all  the  flats  would  soon  be  gray  and  the 
pools  black !  Oh,  she  could  not  stay  !  One  more  watch- 
ful, frightened  look  toward  the  sea — then  she  turned 
and  began  to  walk  toward  home  as  fast  as  her  little 
feet  could  carry  her.  Closer  she  hugged  her  dilapidated 
doll — faster  and  faster  the  little  steps  fell ;  for  behind 
her  in  the  gathering  gloom  an  awful  something  followed 
her  !  Fast  and  faster  she  fled,  running  with  all  her  little 
strength.  A  giant  hand  seemed  ever  about  to  grasp 
her — a  cry  seemed  in  the  passing  wind !  Would  she 
never  reach  the  gate  ?  At  last ! 

Panting  and  exhausted,  she  leaned  against  the  wall : 
she  must  wait  and  rest  here  before  she  went  into  the 
house,  for  she  would  not  let  her  father  see  her  so  fool- 
ishly terrified. 

She  knew  it  was  foolish,  now  that  she  stood  within 
the  gate,  and  could  hear  Jane  singing  in  the  kitchen ;  out 


THE  FELMERES.  9 

in  the  marsh  it  was  different.  Once  before  she  had  been 
frightened  in  the  same  way ;  and,  running  home,  she  had 
met  her  father  at  this  very  gate!  It  was*then  he  had 
told  her  how  foolish  it  was  to  be  afraid  of  her  own  fan- 
cies ;  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  but  what  she 
saw,  or  could  see ;  and  the  darkness  had  never  eaten  any 
one  up.  Then  he  had  taken  her  into  the  churchyard — 
ah,  she  shivered  now  to  think  of  it ! — and  made  her  stand 
there  while  he  went  off  for  a  little  time  into  the  darkness 
to  show  her  it  would  not  destroy  him.  How  she  clung 
to  a  gravestone  when  he  left  her,  and  listened  in  terrified 
silence  and  with  trembling  heart  to  a  cow  cropping  among 
the  graves !  She  wanted  to  scream,  but  did  not  wish  to 
be  called  foolish  again.  Ah !  how  terror-stricken  she  had 
been  until  she  looked  up  and  saw  the  stars  that  seemed 
to  smile  down  kindly  on  her — so  kindly  that  she  asked 
them  to  take  care  of  her;  and  they  heard  her,  and 
brought  her  father  back  to  her  in  a  moment. 

Even  now,  with  all  this  experience  to  aid  her,  she  did 
not  feel  at  all  safe,  and  she  looked  up  for  her  star-friends. 
There  they  were — bright,  and  peaceful,  and  kind — seem- 
ingly quite  ready  to  befriend  her  again.  It  was  strange 
her  father  did  not  believe  in  the  stars,  and  should  say 
they  had  never  been  kind  to  him.  More  than  this — that 
nothing  in  all  the  world  had  ever  been  kind  to  him ! 
Poor  father !  She  would  be,  always  and  for  ever — she 
would  stay  with  him  and  love  him ;  and  she  had  told 
him  so. 

"And  I  will,"  she  said,  holding -up  her  little  hand  to 
the  stars ;  "  watch  and  see  if  I  do  not !  " 

A  half-comprehended,  childish  vow,  maybe ;  but  for 
all  that — true  ! 


10  THE  FELMERES. 

She  was  rested  now,  and  cool,  and  was  glad  enough 
to  turn  her  steps  toward  the  house,  where  one  long  stream 
of  light,  falling  across  the  garden  and  wandering  toward 
the  shadows  of  the  graveyard,  showed  her  that  tea  was 
waiting  in  the  library. 

This  room  was  the  heart  of  the  child's  world.  It  was 
a  high,  long  room,  walled  in  with  somber  books  and 
pictures,  with  here  and  there  a  .gleaming  white  statue, 
which,  catching  the  scanty  light  from  the  high,  deep 
windows,  seemed  to  absorb  it  all.  And  the  child  lived 
here,  with  always  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  about  her  heart 
as  she  felt  the  painted  eyes  of  her  dead  ancestors  follow- 
ing her,  watching  all  her  play  and  study.  At  times  she 
forgot  them;  but  one  upward  look,  and  all  the  time- 
dimmed  faces  seemed  turned  toward  her,  and  all  their 
eyes  seemed  crowding  on  her,  so  that,  overcome  with 
fear,  she  would  creep  to  her  father's  side  and  nestle  there 
until  she  could  again  forget. 

What  had  become  of  all  these  people,  she  wondered  ; 
where  had  they  gone,  and  why  had  they  left  their  dread- 
ful shadows  behind  them  to  watch  and  torment  her  ?  She 
liked  all  the  statues,  and  made  them  the  confidants  of 
her  many  wonders  and  puzzles ;  and  questions,  too,  she 
often  asked  them,  but  got  no  answers — poor  little  maid — 
any  more  than  from  the  graves  and  gravestones. 

But  her  dearest  friend  was  her  doll.  Ah,  the  com- 
fort of  that  mutilated  doll,  who  can  tell  ?  It  helped  her 
to  learn  her  letters ;  it  comforted  her  about  the  pictures ; 
and  the  mystery  of  counting  was  solved  on  the  fingers  of 
this  same  valuable  companion.  Besides  this  doll,  the 
child  had  only  a  few  playthings  put  away  on  a  little  shelf 
near  the  wide  fireplace,  with  a  little  pile  of  lesson  books, 


THE  FELMERES.  11 

a  larger  one  of  fairy  lore,  and  a  box  of  special  treasures. 
Two  arm-chairs  there  were,  for  the  doll  and  for  the  child, 
wherein  they  would  sit  when  tea  was  over,  and  pass  the 
evening  in  pleasant  conversation.  It  is  true,  Cinderella 
could  not  talk,  but  she  was  a  good  listener,  which  went 
very  far.  But  Helen  was  content,  and  to  her  Cinderella 
could  only  be  described  as  beautiful  and.  entertaining. 
Often  the  father  would  put  down  his  book  to  listen  to 
what  the  child  was  saying.  Sometimes  he  would  enter 
into  the  conversation  and  explain  some  of  the  mysteries 
that  worried  his  little  daughter ;  but  more  often  he  left 
her  to  her  own  surmises,  waiting  until  she  should  be  older 
before  he  solved  her  puzzles. 

So  the  little  girl  lived  on  in  a  curious,  unknown 
world — full  of  wonders,  full  of  fears,  full  of  things  in- 
effable which  gave  rise  to  thoughts  and  emotions  that  no 
words  can  translate.  And  the  father,  watching  her,  feli- 
citated himself  that  her  friends  were  what  they  were;  for 
they  could  never  harm  her — never  be  false  to  her — never 
turn  her  against  himself.  She  was  his  only  hope  and 
love,  this  child,  and  her  education  was  his  dearest  task. 
He  had  sometimes  wavered  in  the  course  he  was  pursu- 
ing, but  not  often  nor  for  long.  She  gave  fair  promise 
of  common  sense,  and  of  strength  enough  to  stand  up- 
right without  support  from  the  much-cultivated  super- 
stitions known  as  "  beliefs." 

And  so  the  days,  and  the  months,  and  the  years  moved 
round  the  child,  bringing  new  wonders  and  new  learning, 
solving  old  puzzles,  and  sweeping  away  the  old  mysteries 
into  dim  remembrances ;  slowly  but  surely  turning  the 
"  fairy  gold  "  of  childhood  wonderings  into  the  dried  and 
withered  leaves  of  positive  knowledge ;  robbing  the  sea, 


12  THE  FELMERES. 

and  the  wind,  and  the  sky,  and  the  earth  of  all  their 
mystic  charm,  and  stripping  from  her  heart  the  "  trailing 
clouds  of  glory." 

And  as  she  watched  them  fade  and  die,  she  knew  not 
why  nor  whence  the  sadness  came  that  clung  about  her ! 
She  did  not  know  that  this  change  must  ever  come  to  us 
as  we  travel  from  the  cloudless  sunshine  of  childish  faith 
into  the  shadow  of  the  "  tree  of  knowledge."  She  did 
not  know  why  the  nakedness  of  all  things  should  be  so 
suddenly  revealed  to  her  eyes ;  nor  why  such  cold  bar- 
renness was  creeping  over  the  world  and  life.  She  had 
learned  what  death  meant  in  the  dim  half-revealings  that 
had  come  to  her,  and  why  gravestones  were  used.  Con- 
cerning the  church  she  had  asked  little,  and  had  got  little 
in  return  ;  but  she  often  listened  to  the  sound  of  music 
which  reached  her  faintly  when  the  wind  set  toward  the 
house. 

Once  she  had  seen  a  little  into  the  church,  but  it 
only  seemed  to  widen  the  foundation  for  her  wonders, 
and  not  satisfy  her  at  all.  She  was  leaning  over  the  gate, 
when  deep-rolling  music  came  floating  about  her,  and 
with  it  voices  singing.  She  slipped  through  the  gate  and 
stood  listening,  while  a  sense  of  intense  sadness  stole  over 
her — a  feeling  of  awe  crept  into  her  soul.  She  looked 
up ;  far  above  her,  soft  rose-colored  clouds  were  floating 
across  the  sky ;  and  she  watched  them  with  a  childish 
feeling  of  soul-hunger — a  longing  for  something  to  fill 
this  great  empty  world  and  her  own  sad  little  heart. 

What  was  it  she  wanted  ? 

She  drew  nearer  the  church  :  perhaps  she  might  find 
it  there  among  those  happy-looking  people — this  some- 
thing she  so  much  needed — and  she  crept  up  the  steps. 


THE   FELMERES.  13 

Ah  \  and  with  clasped  hands  and  bated  breath  she 
looked,  and  listened ! 

Happy  ?  Oh,  no  !  she  was  not  happy  standing  there 
— there  was  a  something  that  seemed  to  cling  about  the 
music — a  something  that  came  to  her  when  she  looked 
at  the  beautiful  clouds,  or  watched  the  great  moon  rise 
out  of  the  sea  ! — a  something  that  seemed  to  wrench  her 
heart  with  pain,  and  bring  hot  tears  to  her  eyes.  The 
people  were  all  on  their  knees ;  perhaps  if  she  knelt 
this  pain  in  her  heart  would  go. 

Alas !  a  man  came  out  and,  motioning  her  away, 
closed  the  wide  doors.  She  stood  quite  still  for  a  mo- 
ment in  astonished  despair  and  anger.  What  had  she 
done  that  he  should  send  her  away  ?  She  ran  off  a  little 
distance  and,  crouching  behind  a  great  tombstone,  burst 
into  tears.  She  was  bitterly  angry  with  all  the  world,  it 
all  seemed  against  her.  The  people  she  passed  in  her 
walks  with  her  father  looked  the  other  way  when  they 
met  her,  or  else  stared  curiously.  Even  Jane,  the  ser- 
vant, seemed  to  regard  her  with  doubt ;  and  now,  how 
had  she  been  treated  ! 

"  I  shall  hate  you  for  ever  ! "  she  cried,  raising  her 
hands  as  though  invoking  a  curse  on  the  church.  Then 
she  ran  away — ran  to  the  house,  then  up  to  her  own 
room,  there  to  sob  and  cry  as  though  her  heart  would 
break.  In  the  dusk  of  the  evening  she  crept  down  to 
where  her  father  sat  in  the  library,  and,  kneeling  beside 
his  chair,  told  him  of  her  adventure. 

"  What  were  they  doing,  father,  and  why  do  the  peo- 
ple kneel  ?  "  she  asked,  as  he  clasped  her  little  hand  in  his. 

"  They  were  doing  what  they  call  '  praying,'  my 
child,"  he  answered. 


14  THE  FELMERES. 

"  Praying  ? — like  subjects  to  a  king  2  "  she  went  on. 

"  Yes." 

"  But,  father,  I  saw  no  king,  nor  any  one  who  was 
listening  to  them  ;  where  was  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  only  an  Idea,  child." 

"  An  Idea  ? "  she  repeated  slowly  ;  "  what  does 
4  idea  '  mean  ? " 

"  It  means  a  notion." 

The  child  pondered  a  moment,  then  looked  up  wist- 
fully. 

"  Say  it,  father,  so  that  I  shall  know/  Why  do  they 
pray  without  anything  to  pray  to  ?  " 

The  father  put  his  hands  each  side  the  earnest  face, 
and,  looking  down  into  her  eyes,  he  kissed  her  gently. 

"  Trust  me  a  few  years  longer,  darling,  then  I  will 
tell  you  all." 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Eternity,  Eternity ! 
How  long  art  thou,  Eternity  ? 
No  spring  hast  thou,  no  autumn  gold, 
No  summer's  heat  nor  winter's  cold  ; 
No  infant  cry  begins  thy  day, 
Nor  age  nor  anguish  brings  decay. 
Ponder,  O  man— Eternity !  " 

AND  so  the  girl  waited  and  trusted,  asking  no  more 
questions.  True,  the  world  was  becoming  more  and 
more  empty  every  day— more  and  more  bare  and  dreary ! 
All  the  fables  and  entertaining  wonders  of  her  childhood 


THE  FELMERES.  15 

had  been  educated  away,  and  nothing  put  in  their  place. 
Her  battered  Cinderella  had  long  been  laid  aside — care- 
fully, for  she  still  loved  her,  but  completely.  Her  damp 
little  garden,  where  every  day  she  had  stuck  up  root- 
less, pale,  unhappy  flowers,  qulled  from  among  the  graves, 
was  now  of  more  lasting  growth,  but  scarcely  less  dreary 
than  of  yore.  And  now  she  watched  the  waterfowl  come 
and  go  with  an  undefined  longing  at  her  heart  for  wings 
and  freedom. 

Her  life  seemed  very  objectless,  and  had  grown  more 
so  every  day  since  she  could  remember.  What  was  the 
point  of  all  these  days  and  months  and  years  ?  Where 
would  they  end,  and  how?  Were  languages  and  poetry, 
reading  and  drawing,  the  only  things  to  live  for  ?  And 
when  one  had  risen  above  laboring  for  one's  daily  bread, 
was  this  all  ? 

She  looked  with  envy  on  the  busy  housewives  and 
happy  children  whose  homes  she  sometimes  passed  in  her 
walks  with  her  father — looked,  and  wondered  why  her 
childhood  had  been  so  mysteriously  lonely,  and  her  home 
so  empty.  It  was  strange,  this  utter  separation  of  her 
father  and  herself  from  the  world ;  and  surely  she  was 
old  enough  now  to  know  their  story  ? 

One  day,  in  the  closet  of  an  unused  room,  she  found 
a  little  baby  dress,  worn  and  yellow  with  age.  Curiously 
she  held  it  up  to  the  light.  Had  it  been  hers  ?  Was  it 
the  work  of  her  unknown  mother,  who  she  somehow 
knew  was  still  alive  ?  A  gentle  warmth  of  love  stole 
about  her  heart,  and  she  handled  the  little  garment  ten- 
derly. 

Love  had  shaped  it,  had  put  all  those  careful  stitches 
in — had  folded  it  away,  perhaps,  and  laid  it  in  that  very 


16  TEE  FELMERES. 

spot  where  she  had  found  it !  Then  two  little  letters, 
marking  it,  met  her  eyes — P.  F.  "Who  was  that  ?  It 
was  neither  her  nor  her  father's  name — whose  was  it  ? 
Had  she  ever  had  a  brother  or  a  sister  ?  "Were  they  dead 
— shut  up  in  the  great  Felm,ere  vault  over  there  in  the 
church,  and  she  had  never  known  it  ? 

She  must  ask  her  father.  She  was  almost  a  woman 
now.  Loving  and  trusting,  she  had  waited  as  he  had 
told  her  to  do.  Her  faith  in  him  was  boundless,  and  she 
had  asked  no  questions.  But  now  ?  So  she  went  down 
to  the  library  with  the  little  dress  crumpled  close  in  her 
hands,  afraid  of  what  she  would  hear  ! 

"  Father,"  she  said,  standing  by  his  chair,  "  I  have 
found  this ;  it  is  marked  P.  F.  Whose  was  it  \ " 

The  old  man  touched  the  little  dress,  then  looked  up 
slowly  as  one  in  a  dream.  The  day  he  had  so  long 
avoided  had  come  upon  him ! 

"  I  have  waited  so  long,"  the  clear  young  voice  went 
on — "  so  long,  and  you  have  not  told  me." 

And  silence  fell  again  between  them.  Had  the  fire 
no  warmth  in  it?  "Was  there  a  window  open,  or  a  door, 
that  such  coldness  crept  about  him  ?  "Were  there  people 
in  the  hall — did  he  hear  footsteps  coming  and  going,  and 
voices  ?  lie  shook  himself  as  though  from  hands  that 
held  him ! 

Long  ago  he  had  ceased  to  question  the  wrong  or 
right  of  the  course  he  was  pursuing.  Long  ago  he  had 
determined  that  she  should  not  be  a  Christian,  but  that 
she  should  believe  as  he  did ;  she  should  be  strong  enough 
to  stand  alone ;  she  should  follow  him  step  by  step  be- 
yond the  portal  of  the  grave,  wherever  that  might  lead  ! 
Such  was  his  decision,  and  so  he  had  striven  to  train  her. 


THE   FELMERES.  17 

And  now — suppose  she  should  reproach  him — suppose 
she  should  forsake  him  !  The  gray  head  drooped ;  had 
he  been  wrong  ? 

"I  will  wait,  father"  ;  and  the  girl's  hand  rested  on 
his  shoulder,  rousing  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  without  a  quiver  in  his  voice,  either 
for  the  ghosts  of  the  past  that  were  crowding  about  him, 
or  for  the  fears  of  the  present — "no;  I  will  tell  you 
now.  But  do  not  stand  near  me — go  away ;  for  in  this 
hour  you  are  to  hear  my  life  and  judge  me — you  are  to 
choose  between  me  and  the  world  ! "  His  voice  fell,  and 
in  its  deep  intensity  almost  trembled.  "  You  must  listen 
and  decide — not  by  your  love,  I  charge  you,  but  by  your 
reason ! " 

Then  he  paused,  and  the  girl,  watching  him  with  awe- 
stricken  eyes,  moved  slowly  back.  Ah,  it  was  a  pitiful 
picture,  that,  where  in  the  great  dim  library  the  old 
man,  time-worn  and  world-conquered,  rich  in  knowledge 
and  experience,  sat  with  hand-covered  eyes  making  him- 
self ready  for  this  revelation !  and  before  him  was  the  girl, 
tall  and  beautiful,  with  a  strong,  sad  beauty  that  haunted 
you,  fair  as  any  lily,  as  she  stood  where  the  sunlight  fell 
— still  and  waiting !  And  all  the  painted  Felmeres,  with 
dead,  haunting  eyes,  brooded  over  the  scene !  At  last  he 
spoke. 

"  I  am  old  now,"  he  began — "  old  and  white-haired. 
I  have  had  many  sorrows  and  disappointments,  much 
trouble  and  responsibility,  and  much  experience  of  many 
things!  Through  all  I  have  tried  to  find  and  follow 
truth ;  from  all  I  have  tried  to  gather  wisdom  and  pa- 
tience; under  all  I  have  tried  to  bear  myself  like  a  man. 
How  far  I  have  succeeded  I  can  not  tell ;  for  your  life 


18  THE  FELMERES. 

•will  be  the  only  commentary  upon  and  the  only  result  of 
mine." 

Then  he  told  the  wondering  girl  his  story :  how  he 
had  loved  and  reared  his  only  brother,  Philip ;  and  how 
he  had  gone  from  his  heart  and  his  home  into  the  wide 
world,  and  seemingly  had  forgotten  all.  Then  he  told 
her  of  his  own  marriage,  and  his  short-lived  happiness, 
ending  in  his  wife's  desertion  of  him,  and  in  her  carrying 
away  with  her  their  other  child,  his  only  son. 

"She  never  loved  me  —  never!"  he  cried.  "She 
married  me  at  the  instigation  of  her  priest,  for  the  benefit 
of  their  church  ;  she  left  me  at  the  instigation  of  her 
priest,  because  I  was  an  obstinate  heretic,  and  unexpect- 
edly a  poor  one  !  And  she  took  with  her  my  son — my 
only  son  ! — blasting  and  desolating  my  life  because  she 
was  a  Christian  !  And  in  this  country  side  she  is  almost 
canonized  because  she  broke  her  vows  to  her  God,  leav- 
ing home,  and  husband,  and  what  she  thought  was  a 
dying  child,  in  obedience  to  her  priest  and  conscience ! 
She  is  sainted  :  we  are  condemned,  cast  out ! " 

"  Father  ! "  It  came  like  a  sigh  from  the  girl's  white 
lips.  He  was  murdering  all  the  tenderness  in  her  na- 
ture— did  he  not  know  it  ?  He  was  trampling  down  in 
his  bitterness  all  her  youth,  tearing  away  all  the  tender, 
clinging,  reverential  thoughts  she  had  in  her  loneliness 
twined  about  her  unknown  mother.  Could  he  not  see 
the  agony  in  her  white  face  ?  But  he  did  not  heed  the 
little  cry. 

"  Do  not  come,"  he  said,  "  until  you  have  heard  all. 
Listen  while  I  tell  you  of  this  Christianity  ;  then  choose 
between  it  and  me ! " 

Then  he  explained  the  Christian  belief;  and  even 


THE  FELMERES.  19 

while  lie  spoke  the  bitterness  faded  from  his  voice, 
and  he  told  in  glowing  terms  the  beautiful  story  of  the 
Christ's  life  and  death  ;  he  adored  the  Man,  but  denied 
the  Divinity ! 

Then  came  the  history  of  the  Church,  beginning  with 
those  few  devoted  men  in  far-away  Judea — a  humble,  in- 
significant band,  growing  slowly  but  surely  into  a  great 
political  power,  that,  leaving  far  behind  it  the  simplicity, 
the  beauty,  the  purity  of  the  Master's  teachings,  developed 
in  its  stead  the  idolatry  and  practiced  the  persecutions 
of  the  middle  ages.  He  dwelt  upon  the  corruptions  of 
the  three  great  branches  of  the  Church ;  telling  how  they 
were  torn  by  factions ;  how  they  crucified  and  burned ; 
how  they  tortured  more  terribly  than  the  most  ignorant 
savages ;  how  they  demanded  that  men  should  put  aside 
their  reason,  and,  falling  down  in  blind  faith,  adore  ! 

Then  he  paused,  and  the  girl  drew  a  long,  tremulous 
breath  !  Hurried  on  by  the  burning  words  that  chained 
her  attention,  confused  amid  all  the  terrible  revelations 
that  had  come  to  her,  her  agony  and  despair  were  intense ! 
What  was  this  dreadful  thing  she  was  to  decide  ?  Why 
not  tell  her,  as  he  always  did,  what  she  must  do  ?  Her 
mother  had  been  a  Christian — her  weak,  wicked  mother ! 
Wrong  ?  Who  could  doubt  it  ?  She  stood  looking  out 
of  the  window — looking  at  the  gilt  cross  on  the  church- 
tower — with  a  pitiful  look  of  pain. 

The  wonderful  life  of  the  great  "  God-man "  still 
rung  in  her  ears.  This  Christ  was  the  grandest  hero  of 
whom  she  had  ever  heard.  She  had  not  realized  Him  in 
her  casual  reading ;  but  now  all  her  enthusiastic  girl- 
nature  went  out  in  mute  admiration !  How  gladly  she 
would  worship  so  beautiful  a  God  ;  and  had  she  but  lived 


20  THE  FELMERES. 

in  the  days  of  the  Apostles,  when  the  cause  of  Christ 
needed  champions,  how  she  would  have  gloried  in  dying 
for  it !  But  now  ?  Now  the  Cross  was  triumphant,  and 
one  old  man,  defrauded  for  its  sake  of  all  his  life  held 
dear,  stood  out  against  it — one  poor  old  man,  deserted 
and  alone !  The  tears  sprung  to  her  eyes. 

Reason  ?  How  could  she  reason  about  a  thing  like 
this  ?  Tet  her  father  said  she  must.  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  strove  to  regulate  her  thoughts. 
Then  strangely  through  the  chaos  of  her  confused  mind 
there  rose  up  suddenly  the  awful  memory  of  the  Chris- 
tian's hell !  Did  her  father  not  think  of  that  ?  Quick 
her  young  voice  rung  through  the  silence. 

"  Father,  if  these  Christians  are  right,  what  will  come 
to  you  after  death  ?  "  And  the  beautiful  eyes  watched 
him  with  a  strained,  anxious  pain  in  them. 

No  one  knew  the  agony  this  silence  had  held  for  the 
old  man ;  and  now  she  turned  and  asked,  "  What  will  be 
your  (not  our)  fate  ? "  Was  she  going  too  ?  Had  he  not 
suffered  enough  ?  Could  he  not  keep  one  treasure,  one 
love  from  this  winning  Christ  ?  He  trembled.  It  was 
hard  to  answer  with  this  horror  in  his  heart — with  those 
eyes  so  eagerly  watching  him;  but  he  did  it  slowly, 
steadily : 

"  Eternal  damnation." 

His  voice  clove  the  air  like  a  sword,  and  the  waiting 
heart  before  him,  quivering  with  the  blow,  broke  into  a 
little  cry— then  there  was  silence. 

Oh,  this  awful  Eternity— this  awful  Hell !  And  this 
old  man  could  balance  these  dreadful  chances  with  a 
steady  mind  ?  She  turned  and  looked  at  him  as  though 
he  were  some  stranger.  Already  so  near  the  end,  he 


THE  FELMERES.  21 

dared  this  terrible  risk — dared  to  stand  and  look  this 
fearful  alternative  in  the  face — dared  to  choose!  Her 
brain  reeled,  and  she  turned  away  with  a  sickening  terror 
clinging  about  her ! 

Her  mother  had  not  dared !     Ah ! 

And  he  told  her  now  to  put  her  heart  aside  and  choose ! 
to  put  her  heart  aside  and  leave  him !  She  turned :  the 
gray  head  was  bowed — the  dear  face  was  covered  from 
the  light.  With  a  swift  movement  she  knelt  beside 
him,  and  drew  his  hands  down ;  and  the  face  he  looked 
on  was  surely  glorified !  surely ;  for  all  the  self-f  orget- 
fulness  and  self-abnegation  of  her  woman's  soul  was 
shining  there ! 

"  Father,  I  have  chosen."  And  the  young  voice  rung 
very  true.  "I  shall  never  leave  you;  always  and  for 
ever,  here  and  hereafter,  I  will  follow  you.  I  swear 
it." 

Ah,  old  man,  so  carefully  platting  a  crown  of  thorns 
for  that  young  life — crowning,  yea,  and  crucifying  it ! 
Taking  so  gladly  the  sacrifice  from  that  young,  untried 
soul — grasping  so  eagerly  the  life-gift  from  those  weak 
hands  that  had  groped  so  blindly  for  some  guiding  star, 
and  had  only  found  her  heart ! 


22  THE  FELMERES. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

"  In  the  wail  of  the  wind,  in  the  cry  of  the  sea, 

In  the  far-away  wash  of  the  river, 
In  the  starlight  of  night,  in  the  sunshine  of  day, 
In  the  wanness  of  March,  in  the  blooming  of  May, 
There  lurketh  a  tear  alway — alway — 

A  sadness  that  haunts  me  for  ever !  " 

THE  last  September  day  had  ended,  dying  solemnly 
and  redly  down  the  western  sky.  The  land  lay  brown 
and  bare,  the  sedge  rustled  crisply  in  the  wind,  and  the 
one  stunted  maple  in  the  churchyard  had  put  on,  as  best 
it  was  able,  its  autumn  dress — not  very  gorgeous,  but  still 
making  a  dash  of  color  in  the  landscape  that  helped  to 
light  it  up. 

Walking  up  from  the  river,  Helen  noted  it,  and 
paused,  as  she  had  done  many  times  before,  to  look  on 
the  dreary  picture.  Now  the  one  bright  maple  seemed 
to  cast  a  deeper  gloom  over  the  rest  of  the  scene,  mak- 
ing the  house  look  more  gaunt  and  gray,  the  graveyard 
more  desolate,  and  the  church  more  square  and  cold. 
She  had  a  pitying  love  for  the  old  place,  for  herself,  for 
her  father — 

"A  white-haired  shadow,  roaming  like  a  dream"  — 

who  seemed  to  cling  to  this  quiet  corner  of  the  world  as 
though  it  was  a  secure  refuge  from  all  rude  shocks — a 
place  where  Time  would  forget  him,  and  Death  pass  by 
unseeing ! 


THE  FELMERES.  23 

In  the  two  years  that  had  passed  since  the  explana- 
tion between  father  and  daughter,  they  seemed  almost  to 
have  changed  places.  There  being  nothing  now  to  keep 
from  her,  or  to  guard  her  from,  the  father  had  very  much 
relaxed  his  supervision  of  her  life;  and  she,  with  her 
womanly  instincts  fully  alive,  glad  to  find  something  that 
would  aid  in  filling  out  the  aimless  desolation  of  her  days, 
quietly  altered  the  old  routine,  and  became  the  guardian 
of  her  father's  wahts  and  comforts.  But  more  than  this 
she  had  changed.  Day  by  day  she  had  brooded  over  the 
weakness  of  her  mother,  until  the  love  she  had  in  her 
ignorance  built  up  about  her  name  was  changed  to  bitter- 
ness ;  while  the  emptiness  of  her  own  life  seemed  to  spread 
like  a  desert  before  her — nothing  here,  and  no  hereafter ! 
— and  she  had  vowed  to  stand  by  it.  She  would  stand 
and  watch  the  martins  as  in  her  childhood,  and  long  for 
the  glamour  that  used  to  cover  the  world  for  her ;  and 
she  would  listen  to  the  foolish  clack  of  the  marsh  hens 
and  to  the  solemn  cry  of  the  bitterns  with  a  weary  atten- 
tion, wondering  that  so  many  creatures  had  been  made 
to  live  and  die  for  nothing.  And  so  living,  she  had 
changed.  A  deeper  thoughtfulness  had  come  into  her 
eyes,  a  greater  strength  into  the  lines  of  her  mouth ;  and 
over  all  there  seemed  spread  an  infinite  sadness  and 
shadow  of  longing ! 

Helen  did  not  stand  long  at  the  gate ;  for,  seeing  the 
lonely  stream  of  light  that  flickered  out  from  the  library 
window,  she  knew  her  father  waited  for  her,  and  has- 
tened in. 

Mr.  Felmere  sat  close  over  the  fire,  holding  in  his 
clasped  hands  a  letter.  Helen  paused  a  moment  at  the 
door,  struck  by  his  position  and  expression.  What  had 


24  THE  FELMERES. 

come  to  him  to  make  him  look  more  sad?  She  came 
softly  beside  his  chair. 

"  What  news,  father  ? "  - 

He  roused  himself  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Your  uncle  Philip  is  dead,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  Dead ! " 

"  Dead,  a  week  since." 

Then  a  silence  fell  between  them  ;  the  girl  pondering 
on  this  awful  thing  death— so  inevitable,  so  mysterious, 
so  unsparing  toward  all !  And  the  father  was  groping 
in  among  the  dead  years  for  the  little  boy  he  had  loved 
and  reared,  and  who  now  had  died  an  elderly  man.  How 
strange ! 

The  servant  bringing  in  the  tea  roused  them,  and  Mr. 
Felmere  spoke : 

"  The  letter  is  from  your  cousin  Philip.  He  wants 
to  come  and  see  us." 

Helen  looked  up  interestedly. 

"  I  shall  like  to  meet  him,"  she  said. 

"  He  also  sends  me  a  letter  from  his  father,  begging 
me  to  receive  his  son  as  though  he  were  my  own." 

"  Of  course ;  how  else  could  we  receive  him  ? " 

Mr.  Felmere  nodded,  and  continued :  "  And  you  are 
something  of  an  heiress,  my  child." 

"  What ! " 

"Tour  uncle  has  left  you  exactly  one  third  of  his 
property ;  the  rest  he  has  left  to  his  wife  and  son.  It  is 
yours  unconditionally." 

"  Oh,  father !  what  shall  I  do  with  it  ? " 

The  voice  was  almost  distressed. 

"  When  I  am  dead,  child,  it  will  be  very  welcome — 
almost  necessary;  for,  with  my  pen  gone,  you  would 


THE  FELMERES.  25 

have  been  very  poor.  It  eases  my  heart  of  a  great  bur- 
den ;  for  now  you  will  have  more  than  enough,  and  I 
the  pleasure  of  feeling  grateful  to  my  dear  brother.  It 
was  a  noble  thought." 

"  You  did  everything  for  him,  father." 

"  My  child,  he  was  all  I  had  to  love ;  it  was  iny  chief 
pleasure  to  give  and  do  all  for  him  that  was  in  my  power." 

"  And  through  me  he  has  striven  to  show  his  grati- 
tude to  you.  But  a  third  is  very  generous." 

"Wonderfully  generous  for  one  who  has  made  his 
fortune  by  hard  blows;  for  this  poor  old  remnant  of  a 
place  had  ceased  yielding  an  income  when  he  left  me, 
so  that  I  had  very  little  to  give  him.  "Wonderfully  gen- 
erous ;  and  I  thought  he  had  forgotten  me." 

"  Plow  could  that  be,  father  ?  You  were  the  only  rel- 
ative he  had  left." 

"  Yery  true ;  but  his  wife  has  a  large  family,  and  a 
solitary  man  is  apt  to  become  absorbed  in  a  pleasant  con- 
nection, such  as  that  is." 

"  You  knew  them,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  they  were  once  my  friends." 

"  And  why  not  now  -? " 

"  Ah,  well,  it  was  through  my  non-belief.  I  fell  from 
the  esteem  of  the  world,  and  without  the  world's  approval 
you  must  not  expect  theirs." 

"  How  despicable ! " 

"  All  the  world  is  the  same." 

Then  there  was  a  few  moments'  pause,  until  Helen 
asked : 

"  Are  you  not  allowed  to  think  .for  yourself  in  the 
world  ?     Must  every  one's  mind  and  belief  be  cut  after 
the  same  pattern  ? " 
2 


26  THE  FELMERES. 

"  In  my  youth  it  was  almost  so,  and  to  be  known  as 
a  skeptic  was  almost  social  death ;  even  to  be  a  scientific 
man  was  considered  dangerous.  But  now  things  seem 
changed.  We  skeptics  are  still  dreadful,  but  fashionably 
and  interestingly  so — allowed  in  society,  and  sometimes 
even  lionized.  This  toleration  came  too  late  for  me." 

"  Then  I  may  have  friends,"  Helen  said  questioning- 
ly,  "  if  I  should  ever  go  into  the  world  ? " 

Mr.  Felmere  shook  his  head. 

"  I  would  not  count  upon  it  if  I  were  you.  They 
are  at  best  few  and  uncertain ;  and  now  that  you  have 
money,  you  will  receive  all  that  the  fashionable  world 
can  give  you,  and  I  would  not  look  for  more." 

"  I  hate  the  world ! "  the  girl  exclaimed  vehemently. 

"  Hate  is  a  strong  word,"  her  father  answered.  "  You 
should  not  hate  anything,  for  there  is  nothing  that  has 
not  some  good  in  it ;  so  that  you  should  weigh  all  things 
justly,  and  strive  to  value  them  at  their  due.  Strong 
feelings  are  apt  to  lead  one  astray." 

"  From  what  ?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

"  From  the  safe  middle  path  of  philosophic  calm 
— that  high  level  so  hard  to  reach,  because  so  above 
the  usual  walk  of  every-day  life;  so  quiet,  because  so 
high." 

"In  what  is  it  above  the  usual  daily  life?"  she  went 
on. 

"  Ah,  child  !  you  do  not  know  yet  what  the  din  and 
whirl  of  life  are,  or  its  unceasing  turmoil  and  excitement 
— an  excitement  that  in  time  becomes  necessary,  unless 
one  rises  above  it." 

"  Do  many  so  rise  ? " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 


THE  FELMERES.  27 

"  Not  many.  One  has  to  leave  one's  friends  behind, 
and  this  is  hard  to  do  just  at  first.  They  cry  out  against 
you  as  cold-hearted  and  lacking  in  sympathy ;  so  you 
are  separated  from  them,  and  you  find  yourself  alone, 
but  peacefully  quiet." 

"  Like  the  worm  crawling  to  the  top  of  the  post,"  the 
girl  said  slowly,  and  looked  sadly  at  her  father — "it  may 
be  to  die  of  starvation ;  but  it  is  out  of  the  dust  and 
above  its  fellow  worms  !  Still,  I  think  I  should  like  to 
try  the  turmoil  for  a  little  while.  Then,  perhaps,  being 
tired  of  the  dust,  starvation  on  the  post-top  were  the 
lesser  evil.  But,  father,  is  the  all  of  life  a  choice  be- 
tween evils  ?  " 

The  question  came  pathetically,  with  an  undertone  of 
hopelessness  in  it. 

"  So  I  have  found  it,  my  child,  until  I  reached  the  top 
of  the  post.  There  I  found  the  highest  good  ;  for  from 
thence  I  could  see  the  heavens  and  the  earth  spread  out 
before  me,  and  could  live  in  the  beautiful  order  of  the 
universe.  How  could  I  help  looking  with  pity  on  the 
poor  worms  I  had  left  down  in  the  dust,  who  so  foolishly 
strove  against  fate,  and  seemed  not  to  know  the  joy  of 
perfect  calm,  nor  to  realize  their  own  littleness  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  pleasure  to  realize  one's  littleness  ? "  she 
asked  slowly. 

"  Yes,  if  it  comes  through  the  revelation  of  the  gran- 
deur and  perfection  of  nature  ;  it  is  the  rising  '  on  step- 
ping-stones of  our  dead  selves  to  higher  things ' !  " 

"  And  that  same  height  is  the  trouble,"  she  answered 
sadly — "it  is  so  lonely  up  there.  And  yet  I  may  some 
day  long  for  it,  though  I  doubt  if  I  could  ever  attain  to 
it,  for  I  think  I  must  be  naturally  a  sociable  creature." 


28  THE  FELMERES. 

The  father  had  been  watching  her  closely,  and  showed 
her  by  his  next  question  whither  her  thoughts  were 
unconsciously  tending. 

"  Could  you  be  a  Christian,  Helen,  and  force  your- 
self to  believe  all  that  they  do  ?  Could  you  reason  your- 
self into  a  faith  such  as  they  profess  ? " 

"  No,  father,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head  ;  "  I  do 
not  see  how  it  would  be  possible.  But  I  do  not  think 
reason  has  much  to  do  with  it ;  it  seems  a  combination 
of  faith  and  instinct." 

"  Weakness  and  folly  !  "  the  father  interrupted 
sharply. 

The  girl  looked  up  quickly,  but  did  not  answer,  only 
pondered  in  her  own  mind  if  it  were  weakness  and  folly 
to  take  hold  of  a  religion  that  helped  and  sustained  one 
exactly  in  the  ratio  of  one's  faith  !  If  her  father's  creed 
of  annihilation  were  true,  it  made  no  difference  one  way 
or  the  other,  for  after  death  they  were  all  the  same  dust ; 
and  if  it  made  them  more  comfortable,  why  not  hold  on 
to  this  religion,  even  to  the  extent  of  fighting  for  it  ? 
What  comfort  was  it  that  all  she  believed  could  be  logi- 
cally proved  to  rest  on  a  basis  of  reason,  when  her  beliefs 
were  all  negative — when  her  creed  could  be  summed  up 
in  the  formula,  "  I  do  not  believe  "  ?  Alas  !  in  the  lone- 
liness and  emptiness  of  her  life  she  had  come  almost  to 
think  she  would  rather  have  been  overgrown  with  the 
briers  and  tangles  of  illogical  dogmas  and  baseless  su- 
perstitions, than  stand  on  this  shadowless  plain  spread 
smooth  with  the  "  how  "  and  the  "  why."  She  drew  a 
deep  sigh.  What  was  the  use  in  arguing  round  and  round 
again  in  this  same  circle  ?  She  had  done  it  so  often,  and 
never  but  with  the  one  result :  that  the  Christians  were 


THE  FELMERES.  29 

wise,  to  say  the  least — wise  in  having  provided  for  them- 
selves a  future  and  a  hope,  even  though  illogical  and  vain ; 
but  she,  having  been  so  educated  as  to  find  belief  in  this 
delusion  impossible,  would  have  to  content  herself  with 
the  present  as  best  she  might.  Then,  breaking  from  her 
thoughts,  she  asked : 

"  When  does  Philip  come  ? " 

"  He  does  not  say — probably  not  until  he  hears  from 
me.  But  you  will  do  well  to  have  a  room  prepared  for 
him  ;  it  is  always  safest  to  be  ready." 

"  I  wronder  how  he  looks,"  she  went  on,  "  and  if  we 
shall  like  each  other  ?  " 

Her  father  smiled.  It  always  pleased  him  to  see  the 
girl  throw  off  her  serious  air  and  interest  herself  in  pass- 
ing events  ;  for  she  had  become  too  grave. 

"  If  he  is  like  his  father,"  he  answered,  "  he  is  hand- 
some. His  mother  was  not  so  much  so,  although  her 
face  was  quite  strong  enough ;  that  woman  had  a  power- 
ful will." 

"  What  was  her  name  ? " 

"  Jourdan — Amelia  Jourdan." 

"  An  ugly  name !  no  wonder  she  changed  it.  Fel- 
mere  is  better;  Philip  Felmere  is  very  soft."  She  paused, 
then  asked  slowly,  "  "What  was  my  brother's  name  ? " 

"  Percival,"  Mr.  Felmere  answered  lingeringly,  as 
though  he  loved  to  pronounce  the  name  of  the  boy  he 
had  lost. 

"  Percival !  "  the  girl  repeated.  "  Shall  I  ever  know 
him  ? " 

"  You  must  take  Philip  in  his  place." 

Helen  did  not  say  so,  but  she  felt  that  there  was  a 
special  place  in  her  heart  kept  sacred  for  this  lost  brother 


30  THE  FELMERES. 

— a  place  no  one  else  could  possibly  claim  ;  a  place  this 
rich,  handsome  Philip  had  no  right  to. 

The  next  day  she  gave  orders  for  the  arrangement  of 
her  cousin's  room,  and  they  were  obeyed ;  but  after  the 
servants  had  left  it,  she  went  in  to  make  a  few  last  ar- 
rangements which  she  had  purposely  reserved  for  her  own 
hands.  It  was  a  positive  pleasure  to  have  some  real, 
necessary  thing  to  do  for  some  one  else — some  little 
tasteful,  feminine  work  that  was  not  all  cold  intellect, 
something  which  needed  but  deft  fingers  and  an  artistic 
eye. 

It  was  a  strange  thing,  she  thought,  that,  grown 
woman  as  she  was,  sewing  should  still  be  a  mystery  to 
her,  and  "fancy  work"  of  any  kind  an  untried  pas- 
time. Once,  after  watching  Jane  furtively,  she  had  tried 
to  knit,  but  her  thread  became  so  inextricably  tangled 
that  she  gave  up  in  utter  despair.  She  regretted  very 
much  that  she  was  so  ignorant ;  but  she  could  not  help 
it,  for  her  father  had  kept  her  with"  him  all  the  time,  and 
thought  but  little  of  such  feminine  occupations.  But 
this  day  she  made  a  holiday,  and  during  her  little  prepa- 
rations became  almost  excited  over  the  approaching  visit. 

It  was  almost  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  any  per- 
son except  her  old  drawing-master  had  come  to  the  house. 
N\>w  and  then  farmers  had  come  to  pay  their  rent,  or  to 
ask  for  repairs,  but  not  often  ;  for  usually  the  rent  came 
through  the  lawyer,  and  repairs  were  asked  for  by  letter. 
Thus  Philip's  coming  was  a  great  event  to  her.  She 
moved  about  his  room  with  a  little  subdued  feelino-  of 

m  O 

joy  in  her  heart — a  feeling  that  something  was  really 
corning  into  her  life  after  all ! 

She  put  the  brightest-covered  books  on  the  table,  the 


THE   F ELM E RES.  31 

daintiest  vases  on  the  mantel,  and  the  most  cheerful  pic- 
tures on  the  wall.  All  she  could  think  of  to  brighten 
things,  she  did ;  then  stood  in  the  doorway  to  enjoy  the 
effect,  and,  being  satisfied,  ran  down  stairs,  and  brought 
her  father  up  to  pass  judgment  on  her  handiwork.  It 
was  a  dim  old  room  at  best;  but  to  them,  so  used  as  they 
were  to  dimness,  it  looked  quite  bright  and  cheerful.  It 
was  brighter  than  the  rest  of  the  old  house  with  its  weary 
look  of  departed  grandeur — brighter  than  the  marsh, 
than  the  churchyard  ;  so  to  them  it  was  bright !  Then, 
at  her  father's  suggestion,  she  added  the  brightest  of  the 
rusty  maple  leaves,  and  thought  with  him  that  she  had 
made  quite  an  effect  of  color. 

N"ow,  however,  all  was  done,  and  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  finish  her  holiday  with  her  usual  walk  in  the 
flats ;  so,  kissing  her  father  for  good-by,  she  set  forth. 
She  walked  along  quite  briskly,  feeling  more  light-hearted 
than  usual,  stopping  only  now  and  then  to  pick  a  stalk 
of  grass  or  a  drooping  flag-leaf,  and  weaving  them  into  a 
little  sheaf  to  sketch  when  she  got  home.  There  was  not 
much  in  her  surroundings  to  make  pictures  of ;  and  she 
seemed  to  have  sketched  everything  from  every  possible 
standpoint.  Already  her  portfolio  was  running  over 
with  views  of  the  church  and  churchyard,  the  river,  the 
maple-tree,  the  priest's  house  on  the  hill,  the  Hall  and  the 
garden,  stretches  of  gray  marsh,  and  sections  of  the 
crumbling  stone  walls.  Always  dreary,  her  little  pic- 
tures seemed  to  collect  all  the  desolation  and  sadness  of 
the  place,  and  give  it  to  you  with  a  sigh. 

This  evening,  however,  she  was  in  a  lighter  mood, 
and  twisted  and  pulled  her  little  bunches  of  grass  and 
sedge  until  they  began  to  look  almost  cheerful.  This 


32  THE  FELMERES. 

little  success  still  more  raised  her  spirits,  and  she  quick- 
ened her  stops  to  keep  time  to  the  ballad  she  was  singing 
—a  ballad  she  had  picked  up  from  the  servants.  This 
little  song  was  the  only  one  she  knew ;  and  so  much  did 
she  love  it,  that  she  would  often  draw  near  to  where  old 
Jane  sat  knitting,  droning  the  while  in  a  cracked  voice 
this  favored  song,  wherein  each  verse  ended  with  the  re- 
frain, "  Joy  comes  to  all  before  the  sun  goes  down  "  ; 
and  often  and  vaguely  she  wondered  if  it  was  true,  this 
song !  She  surely  loved  music,  and  often  she  would  try 
to  catch  the  notes  that  came  from  the  church.  To  her  it 
seemed  to  take  a  tone  from  the  wind  and  the  sea — from  the 
summer  clouds  and  dreary  winter  rain — from  the  falling 
leaves  and  rustling  marsh ;  and  at  times  she  seemed  even 
to  hear  all  the  poor  human  voices  that  had  wailed  them- 
selves away,  and  were  for  ever  hushed  in  the  churchyard 
mold !  All  the  saddest  side  of  nature  dwelt  in  music ; 
and  as  she  stood  on  the  river  bank,  she  listened  to  its 
murmur  and  made  her  little  song  keep  time.  There  was 
surely  the  same  soft  rhythm  running  through  all  nature, 
all  poetry,  all  music ;  for  her  song  kept  time  to  the  river, 
and  the  river  to  the  far-away  beat  of  the  sea  ;  and  withal, 
there  was  an  undertone  from  the  autumn  wind,  and  the 
low  gray  autumn  clouds ! 

Why  was  the  world  ever  made  ?  she  wondered,  then 
sighed.  Why  was  she  ever  made  ?  or,  if  made,  why  was 
her  life  so  peculiar?  "Natural  results  from  natural 
laws";  "cause  and  effect":  of  course  she  could  under- 
stand how ;  but  why  ?  Why,  indeed,  was  anything  as  it 
was?  It  all  seemed  very  senseless  to  her.  She  hated 
"immutable  laws"  driving  the  universe  on  for  ever  and 
for  ever !  an  unchangeable  iron  fate  ruling  all !  What 


THE   FELMERES.  33 

good  to  fight  against  it — what  good  to  obey  it  ?  "  Ever 
climbing  up  the  climbing  wave" — ceaseless,  enduring 
toil  and  war — and  for  nothing !  Let  things  go  :  death 
ended  all ! 

She  shook  herself  to  rouse  herself  from  this  untimely 
mood.  Her  father  did  not  like  to  see  her  sad,  and  now 
she  was  always  so.  If  she  could  only  stop  thinking,  she 
felt  sure  she  would  be  more  cheerful.  Alas  !  if  she  were 
only  not  such  a  weak  creature !  And,  drawing  a  long 
sigh,  she  turned  toward  the  house. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Yet  could  not  all  creation  pierce 
Beyond  the  bottom  of  liis  eye." 

ON  reaching  the  house  Helen  felt  almost  despondent, 
and  entered  the  library  in  a  listless  way,  with  the  bunches 
of  grass  drooping  down  from  her  hand  as  though  for- 
gotten. She  closed  the  door  after  her,  and,  looking  up, 
saw  in  the  dim  firelight  a  man  sitting  opposite  her  father. 
She  paused,  and  her  father,  catching  sight  of  her,  said : 

"  Your  cousin  has  come,  Helen." 

The  stranger  rose  and  came  forward,  meeting  her 
half-way,  and  they  shook  hands. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  Helen  said ;  and  he,  ap- 
parently much  taken  up  with  her  appearance,  only  said 
some  formal  words  in  return,  and  sat  down  again. 

There  was  something  wrong  in  the  meeting,  but 
Helen  did  not  know  what  it  was ;  and  she  turned  away 


34  THE   IELMERES. 

to  put  down  her  hat  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment, 
and  almost  blankness.  But  she  felt  the  duties  of  hostess 
weighing  upon  her :  something  must  be  done  to  make 
him  feel  happy  and  glad  to  be  with  them ;  and  as  a  last 
resort  she  strove  to  make  a  diversion  with  her  grasses. 

"  See,  father,  I  have  material  for  another  sketch,"  she 
said,  kneeling  down  on  the  rug  to  show  her  trophies  by 
the  firelight. 

"  They  are  very  graceful,"  Mr.  Felmere  answered 
rather  absently,  for  he  was  all  the  while  watching  Philip, 
who  had  not  once  taken  his  eyes  off  his  cousin. 

The  silence  was  becoming  oppressive  to  Helen,  and 
she  was  wondering  what  had  come  to  her  father  that  he 
would  not  talk,  and  at  the  same  time  trying  herself  to 
think  of  something  to  say,  when,  to  her  great  relief, 
Philip  broke  the  silence. 

"  Do  you  draw,  Helen  ? "  he  asked. 

She  almost  started,  for  it  sounded  queer  to  hear  her 
name  so  familiarly  spoken  by  a  stranger ;  .then  she  an- 
swered quietly,  but  without  looking  up  : 

"  Yes,  I  draw  somewhat." 

At  this  moment  dinner  was  announced,  and  they  left 
the  dim  library  for  the  more  cheerful  dining-room. 

During  dinner,  as  Helen  became  accustomed  to  her 
cousin,  she  had  to  confess  to  a  feeling  of  disappointment. 
He  talked  fluently,  seemed  well  educated,  was  versed 
in  all  the  light  literature  of  the  day,  and  seemed  to  Helen 
to  know  a  great  deal ;  yet  there  was  something  lacking 
in  him  to  which  she  had  always  been  accustomed  in  her 
father,  the  absence  of  which  would  not  allow  her  to  like 
him  altogether.  Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his 
gayest  stories,  it  flashed  across  her  that  his  father  had 


THE   FELMERES.  35 

only  been  dead  a  few  days  !  If  it  had  been  her  father, 
could  she  have  been  so  light-hearted  in  so  short  a  time  ? 
True,  there  was  one  mitigating  circumstance  :  these  Chris- 
tians all  hoped  to  meet  again  somewhere ;  so,  perhaps, 
they  did  not  mind  death  so  much,  it  being  only  a  tem- 
porary separation.  She  felt  guilty  after  she  had  reached 
this  conclusion,  took  herself  to  task  for  so  judging  a  guest, 
and  tried  to  catch  the  thread  of  the  story  Philip  was  tell- 
ing. She  found  it  at  last,  but  when  she  had  succeeded 
did  not  think  it  worth  the  trouble  she  had  taken.  But 
to  Mr.  Felmere  it  was  interesting,  for  it  brought  back  to 
him  his  youth  in  the  fashionable  world.  And  this  little 
aroma  of  the  world  that  had  come  into  the  old  house 
roused  him,  touching  him  like  a  hand  from  out  the  far 
past— a  hand  not  all  forgotten. 

It  almost  startled  Helen  to  see  her  father  so  animated, 
and  to  hear  him  laugh  so  heartily  ;  for  in  all  her  life  she 
never  remembered  seeing  him  in  such  a  mood.  He 
seemed  a  different  man  ;  a  color  came  into  his  cheeks, 
his  eyes  shone,  and  his  laugh  rung  clear  and  musical. 
It  was  not  natural  to  see  him  thus,  and  it  worried  her ; 
she  liked  him  best  as  he  was  every  day,  as  he  had  always 
been  to  her — the  bent,  the  venerable  scholar.  It  better 
suited  his  silver  hair  and  the  chiseled  beauty  of  his  face. 
At  this  point  in  her  cogitations  her  father  chanced  to 
raise  his  head,  and,  catching  her  questioning  look,  blushed 
like  a  girl. 

"  Your  cousin  makes  me  young  again,  my  daughter," 
he  said  apologetically. 

Philip  glanced  from  the  one  to  the  other  in  mute  sur- 
prise. What  did  they  mean  ?  Did  they  never  laugh  and 
talk  ?  Could  they  possibly  think  it  wrong  ? 


36  THE  FELMERES. 

Helen  looked  down  and  felt  miserable.  She  onglit 
to  be  grateful  to  Philip,  and  she  was  not.  She  had  never 
in  all  her  life  been  gay,  and  could  almost  remember  every 
time  she  had  ever  laughed. 

The  conversation  had  nagged  for  a  little  while  after 
her  father's  apology,  but  it  was  not  long  before  she  had 
the  relief  of  hearing  it  renewed,  and  go  on  as  before. 
"When  once  more  she  found  herself  in  the  library,  she 
felt  more  at  her  ease,  for  here  she  could  withdraw  herself 
without  seeming  rude.  She  did  not  think,  however,  that 
it  would  be  polite  to  read  ;  so  she  gathered  her  materials 
together  and  began  a  little  pencil  sketch  of  her  grasses. 
So  the  evening  slipped  away,  and  nobody  heeded  her. 
Alas !  this  was  not  the  pleasure  she  had  expected  to  de- 
rive from  her  cousin's  visit ;  and  she  wondered  if  her  life 
would  be  always  becoming  more  empty — if  every  change 
would  leave  her  more  alone. 

"  That  is  very  well  done,"  said  a  voice  close  to  her 
ear. 

She  started,  and  looking  up  found  Philip  bending 
over  her.  Involuntarily  she  drew  away  from  him.  Philip 
watched  her  closely,  but  did  not  move  from  where  he 
was. 

"  Where  is  my  father  ? "  she  asked,  as  for  the  first 
time  she  missed  him  from  the  room. 

"  He  has  gone  to  get  the  miniatures  of  his  parents  to 
show  me." 

Helen  drew  some  crooked  lines  on  her  paper ;  her 
father  had  never  told  her  of  these  pictures. 

"  You  draw  extremely  well,"  Philip  went  on. 

"This  is  wretched,"  she  answered  coldly,  and  tore 
the  paper  across  the  middle. 


THE   FELMERES.  37 

"  It  deserved  a  better  fate,"  he  said,  and  walked  to 
the  fire. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Felmere  returned  with  two  small 
morocco  cases  in  his  hand. 

u  Here  they  are,"  he  said  to  Philip ;  and  they  came 
near  the  light  to  look  at  them. 

"  Your  grandparents,  my  daughter.  I  do  not  think 
you  have  ever  seen  them";  and  he  handed  one  of  the 
pictures  to  Helen. 

It  was  a  very  joyous,  lovely  face  that  met  her  on  open- 
ing the  case ;  not  very  thoughtful,  but  full  of  life  and 
beauty. 

"  How  lovely ! "  she  said  half  to  herself,  half  to  the 
picture. 

"  Let  me  see  ? "  Philip  asked,  offering  to  change  pic- 
tures. Helen  gave  hers  up  reluctantly ;  she  liked  to 
look  at  the  handsome,  happy  lady  who  had  died  so  long 
ago. 

The  picture  she  now  took  was  still  more  handsome, 
and,  though  in  miniature,  a  grand  head.  It  was  some- 
what like  her  father,  yet  very  different;  it  was  more 
gentle  and  sympathizing,  yet  had  the  same  thoughtful 
strength  in  the  brow  and  eyes  that  fascinated  her  ;  and 
over  all  there  lay  a  shade  of  sadness  that  was  haunting. 
There  must  have  been  a  hope  in  life  that  he  had  lost — a 
key-note  that  he  had  missed  ! 

"  Was  my  grandfather  a  Christian  ?  "  she  asked  sud- 
denly. 

Both  gentlemen  started ;  her  voice  had  struck  so 
sharply  on  the  silence,  and  her  question  was  so  strange. 

"In  his  early  youth  he  was,  but  not  afterward,"  Mr. 
Felmere  answered  slowly. 


38  THE  FELMERES. 

Philip  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  an  observing 
way.  He  wondered  how  they  would  talk  of  religion,  or 
if  they  would  talk  of  it  at  all ;  he  hoped  not,  for  it  was 
not  a  favorite  topic  of  his,  and  belonged  by  rights,  he 
thought,  to  clergymen  and  old  women.  So  he  made 
some  remark  that  led  the  conversation  away,  and  Helen 
was  left  to  the  company  of  her  grandparents. 

She  put  the  two  pictures  side  by  side  on  the  table 
before  her,  and  compared  them.  How  had  they  ever 
come  together?  she  wondered  ;  they  did  not  look  in  the 
least  congenial.  Yet  he  must  have  loved  her,  for  he  did 
not  marry  again  until  she  had  been  dead  for  more  than 
twenty  years.  Poor  thing!  she  had  only  lived  one  year 
after  her  marriage.  Young,  beautiful,  and  happy — what 
an  unkind  fate  that  she  should  die !  And  he,  sad  and 
lonely,  had  lived  on  with  only  his  baby  son  for  company. 

She  studied  his  face.  "What  had  he  lost  to  put  that 
look  into  his  eyes — his  belief,  or  the  love  of  his  youth  ? 
This  religion  must  be  a  terrible  loss  to  any  one  who  had 
ever  really  held  it — like  a  cripple  casting  away  his  crutch, 
or  a  blind  man  departing  from  his  guide.  How  could 
one  do  without  it,  having  once  lived  by  it  ?  No  wonder 
the  poor  brown  eyes  looked  sad  and  lost ;  and  yet,  if  he 
could  not  believe  it,  he  was  right  to  give  it  up.  It  was 
fortunate,  she  thought,  that  she  had  not  had  to  choose 
and  decide.  "Weak  and  miserable  as  she  was,  she  would 
never  have  had  the  strength  to  see  the  right  and  follow 
it ;  she  would  have  taken  the  most  comfortable  course 
without  question.  "When  they  were  separating  for  the 
night,  she  asked  her  father  to  let  her  keep  the  pictures, 
and  he  assented. 


THE   FELMERES.  39 


CHAPTER  Y. 

"  And  stay'd  and  cast  his  eyes  on  fair  Elaine : 
Where  could  be  found  face  daintier  ?  than  her  shape 
From  forehead  down  to  foot  perfect — again 
From  foot  to  forehead  exquisitely  turned: 
'  Well,  if  I  bide,  lo!  this  wild  flower  for  me  ! '  " 

DAY  after  day  passed — the  weeks  came  and  went, 
filling  out  October's  term  ;  yet  Philip  lingered. 

For  many  reasons  this  visit  had  been  planned.  First, 
it  was  his  father's  last  wish,  and  as  such  had  to  be  obeyed. 
Second,  a  third  of  the  property  had  come  to  this  girl, 
and  it  was  just  as  well  to  look  after  her ;  for,  besides  this 
property  left  by  her  uncle,  this  only  child  of  the  eldest 
branch  would  inherit  the  family  place,  and  all  the  relics 
of  their  ancient  wealth  and  long  descent.  To  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere,  Philip's  mother,  this  meant  a  great  deal ;  for,  her 
own  family  being  hopelessly  new  even  for  America,  she 
was  possessed  of  an  honest  longing  for  old  things  and 
old  names.  It  would  be  something  to  say  her  son  had 
married  his  cousin ;  and  a  dear  privilege  it  would  be  for 
her  to  be  able  to  add,  in  a  careless,  casual  way,  that  this 
alliance  would  keep  the  name  and  estate  together.  It 
did  not  matter  to  her  that  the  estate  had  dwindled  down 
to  a  neck  of  marsh  land  and  a  few  poor  farms ;  the  name 
of  the  thing  was  what  she  wanted :  "  Felmere  Hall " 
sounded  well. 

This  second  set  of  reasons  would  have  been  enough 
alone  to  decide  Mrs.  Felmere  that  a  visit  from  her  son  to 
his  uncle  was  a  proper  thing ;  but  there  was  a  third  set 


40  THE   FELMERES. 

that  wrought  immediate  action.  She  had  during  all  her 
son's  life  feared  his  marrying ;  for,  being  her  only  child 
and  her  idol,  she  had  a  morbid  dread  of  losing  the  pre- 
eminent place  she  now  held  in  his  affections,  and  with  it 
'much  of  her  influence  over  him.  This  girl  was  doubtless 
very  innocent  and  childish,  for  not  only  had  she  been 
reared  in  the  country,  but  by  a  man;  thus  there  was 
every  hope  and  probability  that  she  would  be  easily  awed 
by  the  pomp  of  wealth  she  would  find  in  her  new  home, 
and  easily  led  to  take  a  second  place  in  the  management 
of  things. 

It  was  thus  Mrs.  Felmere  argued,  and  she  sent  her  son» 
to  see  his  uncle.  She  had  not  long  to  wait  to  see  the 
successful  beginning  of  her  plans ;  for  almost  immediately 
her  son  wrote  of  his  cousin's  beauty,  adding  that  she  was 
educated  far  beyond  most  of  the  women  he  knew,  and 
was  withal  gentle  and  ladylike.  All  this  fully  satisfied 
Mrs.  Felmere,  and  she  heartily  encouraged  him  to  remain. 
She  wrote  a  sisterly  letter  to  Mr.  Felmere,  and  a  mother- 
ly one  to  Helen,  then  rested  from  her  labors,  feeling  she 
had  done  her  duty  by  her  son,  and  had  partially  con- 
verted his  father's  foolish  legacy  into  a  good  to  herself 
and  her  child. 

And  Philip  was  happy.  His  mother,  who  had  ever 
made  him  feel  her  power,  was  pleased  that  he  should  love 
his  cousin ;  and  his  uncle  seemed  to  quite  approve  his 
suit.  About  his  cousin  he  did  not  know  exactly  what  to 
think.  She  seemed  a  simple-hearted  girl,  and  one  who 
might  be  easily  won,  and  yet  he  could  not  say  he  was 
altogether  satisfied  with  his  progress  ;  but  still  he  hoped 
that  time  and  opportunity  were  all  he  needed,  and  so 
lingered. 


THE   FELMERES.  41 

Helen,  meantime,  went  on  her  way  in  quiet  uncon- 
sciousness of  all  the  plans,  of  all  the  hopes  and  fears,  that 
revolved  about  her.  That  Philip  could  ever  be  anything 
more  than  a  cousin  never  for  one  moment  crossed  her 
mind,  for  in  all  her  life  she  had  never  had  any  thought 
of  marrying.  She  felt  herself  so  different  from  others 
that  she  never  questioned  but  that  her  life  would  con- 
tinue to  flow  in  a  different  channel,  and  end  with  a  dif- 
ferent result  from  theirs.  Her  one  thought  was  of  her- 
self and  her  father  living  alone  and  satisfied,  cut  off 
from  all  the  outer  world.  As  her  father  had  said,  she 
put  Philip  in  the  place  of  a  brother  ;  he  was  not  by  any 
means  her  ideal  brother,  but  yet,  in  lack  of  better,  he 
sufficed.  Nor  was  she  altogether  happy  in  his  stay  ;  for, 
although  he  was  kind  and  attentive  and  made  her  father 
more  cheerful,  yet  she  missed  the  old  oneness  of  their 
lives,  and  the  unbroken  companionship  that  had  existed 
between  her  father  and  herself  before  his  advent ;  and  she 
went  so  far  as  to  look  back  with  longing  and  regret  to 
the  old  monotony,  and  to  wonder  if  her  cousin  would 
never  go. 

At  last  one  day,  as  they  stood  together  on  the  river 
bank — Philip  talking  gayly,  and  Helen  listening  quietly, 
and  as  usual  moralizing  on  him  and  his  ideas — he  sud- 
denly stopped  his  talk  and  asked  : 

"  Do  you  care  for  me  in  the  least,  Helen  ? " 

She  looked  up  surprised,  and  answered  simply  : 

"  Yes,  Philip,  I  am  quite  fond  of  you." 

"  How  fond  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  I  have  never  weighed  it." 

"  Will  you  *  weigh  it,'  as  you  say,  and  tell  me  before 
1  go  ? "  he  pleaded  almost  impatiently. 


42  THE  FELMERES. 

"  I  will  try  ;  but  when  do  you  go  ? " 

"  In  a  very  few  days,"  lie  answered.  Then  they 
turned  their  steps  homeward.  Philip  was  sorely  trou- 
bled, for  the  perfect  calmness  of  his  cousin  had  blotted 
out  all  shadow  of  hope  he  had  had  in  his  own  powers, 
and  left  him  only  his  uncle  to  look  to  for  success.  So 
he  pondered  the  situation  as  he  walked  toward  home, 
and  Helen,  equally  silent,  wondered  why  he  had  asked 
so  many  curious  questions. 

That  night  Mr.  Felmere  and  Philip  sat  up  talking 
until  a  late  hour,  and  Helen  fell  asleep  wondering  what 
it  all  meant.  She  surmised  that  it  must  be  about  that 
stupid  money.  She  was  very,  very  sorry  that  her  uncle 
had  left  it  to  her ;  for,  besides  the  worry  of  it,  she  would 
have  much  preferred  to  work  for  her  own  living  if  need 
be :  it  would  have  filled  out  her  life  and  given  her  an 
interest  in  whatever  she  undertook. 

The  next  day  Philip  walked  to  the  village  of  Fel- 
mere,  saying  he  would  not  be  back  to  lunch.  Helen  lis- 
tened gladly,  and  rejoiced  that  for  one  day  she  would 
have  her  father  to  herself. 

Alas,  that  day ! 

She  knelt  by  her  father's  chair  as  of  old  when  Philip 
was  gone,  and  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  My  own  father  once  more,"  she  said. 

"  How,  child — what  do  you  mean,  Helen  ?  "  he  asked 
gently. 

"  Only  that  I  have  you  all  to  myself  for  to-day,"  she 
answered. 

"  Helen,"  her  father  began  slowly,  "  I  wish  to  talk 
to  you  very  seriously  to-day,  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that 
Philip  has  left  us  alone." 


THE   FELMERES.  43 

Helen  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Has  he  anything  to  do  with  your  talk  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  he  is  the  subject  of  it." 

Slowly  the  beautiful  head  returned  to  its  resting- 
place  ;  but  the  girl  said  nothing :  she  could  say  nothing, 
for  an  indefinable  fear  was  creeping  over  her  that  effec- 
tually kept  her  silent. 

"  Are  you  listening  ? "  her  father  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Then  he  began : 

"  Philip  is  the  only  son  of  my  only  brother,  and  you 
and  he  are  the  last  of  the  Felmeres." 

"  My  brother — "  Helen  interrupted  jealously. 

"  To  me  he  is  dead  ! "  her  father  answered,  more 
sternly  than  she  had  ever  heard  him  speak ;  then  con- 
tinued :  "  I  love  Philip  and  trust  him  ;  and  he  loves 
you,  my  child,  not  as  brother  or  cousin,  but  as  a  man 
loves  the  woman  he  hopes  to  make  his  wife."  Could  he 
not  feel  the  wave  of  blood  rush  back  upon  the  heart 
resting  so  near  his  own  ?  could  he  not  feel  how  heavily 
and  slowly  it  beat  ?  and  did  he  not  know  what  the  white 
lips  would  have  answered  him  had  they  the  strength  ? 
But  he  only  made  a  little  pause,  then  went  on :  "I  can 
not  hope  to  live  more  than  a  few  years  longer,  and  when 
I  am  gone  you  will  have  no  friend  on  earth.  Give  me 
the  comfort,  my  darling,  of  leaving  you  to  Philip's  care, 
as  Philip's  wife.  I  am  old  now,  and  dread  to  leave  you 
alone.  You  know  that  life  has  held  little  for  me  ;  will 
you  not  give  me  this  pleasure  at  the  last  ?  " 

The  young  heart  seemed  to  almost  stop,  the  young 
voice  seemed  almost  smothered. 


44  THE   FELMERES. 

"  I  do  not  know  him,  fatlier — I  do  not  love  him  1 " 

"  How  could  you  be  expected  to  love  a  man  who  had 
not  asked  it  at  your  hands  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  pleading  went  on  : 

"  Love  will  come  with  time,  my  child,  and  Philip 
is  all  I  could  ask  or  expect  for  you.  He  is  young 
and  handsome,  he  has  money  and  position ;  he  has  a 
comfortable  home,  and  a  mother  anxious  to  welcome 
you  as  a  daughter :  how  better  could  I  provide  for 
you  ? " 

The  bowed  head  was  raised,  and  the  beautiful  face 
and  eyes  had  a  gleam  of  desperation  in  them. 

"  Father,  I  have  my  own  money,  I  have  this  house, 
and  somewhere  in  this  world  I  have  a  brother  who  will 
come  home  to  me.  Let  me  stay  as  I  am.  I  do  not  wish 
to  marry ! " 

"  Your  brother  is  less  than  nothing  to  you,  Helen ; 
and,  if  you  must  hear  it,  you  are  too  young  and  too  beau- 
tiful to  be  left  unprotected.  Now  listen  to  what  I  pro- 
pose. Philip,  when  he  leaves  us,  is  to  travel  for  some 
time.  Enter  into  an  engagement  with  him,  to  be  ful- 
filled when  he  returns.  Do  this  for  me,  child,  and  you 
will  put  more  rest  and  happiness  into  my  last  days  than 
I  have  in  any  wise  looked  for." 

The  girl  rose  ;  this  last  appeal  for  her  father's  happi- 
ness touched  the  purpose  of  her  life. 

"  Give  me  to-day  to  think,  father." 

"  Very  well,  my  daughter ;  only  remember  how  much 
I  desire  this  thing." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Then  she  left  the  room.  She  felt  bewildered.  How 
had  it  all  happened  ?  and  why  had  she  not  suspected  it 


THE   FELMERES.  45 

before,  when  she  might  possibly  have  put  a  stop  to  it  ? 
And  now ! 

She  walked  to  the  back  door,  where  old  Jane  was 
feeding  the  chickens. 

"  Jane  ! "  she  called,  and  the  woman  came  to  her 
side. 

"  Wnat  is  it,  Miss  Helen «  " 

"  Jane,  if  my  father  should  die,  would  you  not  stay 
here  and  take  care  of  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  would  indeed,  Miss  Helen,  for  all  of  my 
life " ;  and  the  servant  looked  at  the  mistress  in  much 
astonishment,  and  at  a  loss  to  account  for  this  breaking 
through  of  the  barrier  that  had  always  separated  them. 

"  Is  the  master  sick  ? "  the  woman  asked  after  a  little 
pause. 

"  Oh,  no  !  but,  Jane,  I  thank  you  very  much."  And, 
squeezing  the  old  woman's  hard  hand  in  both  of  hers,  she 
went  away  hurriedly  to  her  own  room. 

Jane  watched  her  curiously  ;  what  did  it  mean  ?  In 
all  the  long  years  of  her  service  she  had  learned  to  love 
the  beautiful,  gentle  creature,  and  had  long  and  earnestly 
mourned  her  unbelief.  She  had  often  wanted  to  pet  the 
girl  in  some  humble  fashion,  and  if  possible  convert  her 
to  her  own  simple  creed ;  but  the  master's  orders  had 
been  too  strict  to  be  tampered  with. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  she  muttered  as  she  watched  her  go. 
"  With  no  mother  and  no  God,  trouble  will  come  hard ! " 

And  poor  Helen,  locking  her  door,  sat  down  to  think. 
How  was  it  possible  that  she  should  marry  Philip  ?  yet 
how  was  it  possible  that  she  should  deny  her  father  this 
request — should  refuse  this  one  boon  that  he  asked  ?  His 
happiness  was  hers,  and  with  him  unhappy,  what  would 


46  THE  FELMERES. 

her  life  be  ?  And  if  he  should  die  before  she  did,  the 
remorse  of  having  refused  him  would  never  leave  her. 
What  should  she  do  2  Either  way  she  looked  at  it,  it 
was  hopeless ;  in  either  case  she  would  be  miserable ;  and 
why  not  keep  her  misery  to  herself,  and  so  make  her 
father  happy  ?  Philip  and  his  mother  would  be  kind  to 
her ;  so  why  not  accept  this  as  her  fate,  and  be  patient  ? 
Her  little  span  of  unhappiness  could  be  borne  if  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  it  ;  and  why  should  she  not  ? 
What  was  there  that  she  expected  better  than  this  now 
offered  her  ?  There  were  no  reasons  why  she  should  not 
marry  Philip,  except  that  she  did  not  love  him ;  and  this 
love,  her  father  said,  would  come  with  time.  He  was 
wise — he  must  know.  Life  at  best  was  a  poor  affair : 
why  not  put  a  little  happiness  into  the  last  days  of  one 
whose  life  had  long  been  so  dreary  ?  She  would  do  it ! 

She  would  do  it  if  Philip  would  accept  her  condi- 
tions :  first,  that  she  should  never  leave  her  father ;  sec- 
ond, that  she  should  never  become  a  Christian ;  third, 
that  Philip  should  not  stay  longer  at  Felmere,  but  go 
away  at  once,  and  never  come  back  so  long  as  her  father 
lived.  Hard  conditions,  and  she  sincerely  hoped  he  would 
not  accept  them. 

-  She  did  not  again  go  down  to  the  library,  but  spent 
the  day  in  her  own  room,  trying  to  convince  herself  that 
she  would  be  happy  in  some  way,  and  that  in  any  event 
it  was  not  probable  that  she  should  live  long. 

At  last  the  day  was  spent,  and  evening  and  Philip 
came  together.  She  saw  him  coming  across  the  grave- 
yard, walking  slowly,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
head  down,  and  a  general  look  of  dejection  hanging 
about  him  ;  and  she  went  out  slowly  to  meet  him.  He 


THE    FELMERES.  47 

did  not  hear  her  coming,  and  started  visibly  when  her 
voice  sounded  at  his  side. 

"  Philip,  my  father  says  you  wish  to  marry  me." 
There  was  not  a  tremor  in  the  voice,  nor  a  shadow  of 
hesitation. 

"  Yes,  Helen ! "  he  answered  slowly,  too  much  sur- 
prised even  to  take  his  hands  from  his  pockets. 

"  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  went  on,  with  painful  hon- 
esty, "  but  my  father  says  that  will  come  in  time." 

"  Indeed ! "  he  began  eagerly  ;  but  she  motioned  him 
to  silence,  and  continued  in  the  same  even  tone  : 

"  All  day  long  I  have  been  thinking  of  it,  and  have 
come  to  this  decision  :  if  you  will  promise  never  to  take 
me  away  from  my  father  and  this  place  until  after  my 
father's  death,  I  will  marry  you." 

She  ceased  speaking,  and  for  a  moment  there  was 
utter  silence  save  for  the  far-away  calling  of  the  sea. 
Was  he  going  to  refuse  her  terms  ?  And  she  began  to 
speak  again  with  the  desperate  hope  of  making  her  con- 
ditions more  difficult  to  accept. 

"  I  will  marry  you  to-morrow  if  you  wish,  but  you 
must  never  consider  me  as  more  than  your  cousin  until 
after  my  father's  death.  You  must  go  away  from  here, 
and  not  come  back  until  that  awful  day  when  he  shall 
leave  me,  never  mind  if  it  is  for  twenty  years  !  Do  you 
understand  me  ? " 

"  Yes,"  Philip  answered  slowly,  and  still  stood  look- 
ing down  and  thinking.  At  -best  his  uncle  would  not 
live  more  than  five  years  ;  this  was  a  short  time  to  wait. 
In  fact,  it  would  be  wiser  to  wait  under  any  circum- 
stances, for  they  were  both  young.  At  last  he  looked  up. 

"  I  agree,  Helen  "  ;  and  he  held  out  his  hand. 


48  THE  FELMERES. 

She  shivered  slightly  and  drew  away  from  him. 

"  Kemember,  Philip,  I  do  not  love  you,  and  am  only 
doing  this  because  my  father  desires  it." 

"  I  remember,"  still  holding  out  his  hand  ;  "  but  you 
will  learn  to  love  me  in  time." 

"  That  is  a  bare  chance.  If  you,  however,  are  willing 
to  run  the  risk,  I  have  nothing  to  say  save  that  I  will  try 
honestly  to  love  you.  There  is  now  but  one  more  thing 
to  tell  you  :  I  shall  ever  remain  an  unbeliever." 

"  Yes,  and  still  I  accept  your  terms ;  they  are  hard, 
but  I  can  wait." 

She  stood  silent  a  moment,  weighing  idly  in  her 
mind  whether  she  most  admired  his  patience  in  accept- 
ing, or  despised  his  weakness  in  submitting  to  her  terms. 
It  was  only  a  moment,  however ;  then  she  roused  her- 
self and  put  her  hand  in  his,  saying : 

"  And  now  it  rests  with  you  to  say  how  binding  the 
contract  between  us  shall  be.  I  think  it  were  wiser  to 
have  an  understanding  that  will  bind  me  and  leave  you 
free ;  so  that  if  you  tire  of  waiting,  you  need  wait  no 
longer.  I  am  safe  ;  I  shall  never  leave  my  father  while 
he  lives." 

Philip  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  let  it  be  as  binding  on  both  as  the  law  can 
make  it.  But  when  I  come  again,  I  hope  you  will  not 
object  to  my  bringing  a  clergyman  with  me :  I  should 
like  to  have  the  public  sanction  of  the  church."  He  hes- 
itated a  minute  under  her  steady  look,  then  went  on 
with  almost  a  shade  of  apology  in  his  tone  :  "  It  is  the 
custom  in  the  world,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  she  answered  carelessly.  What  dif- 
ference could  it  make  to  her  ? 


THE   FELMERES.  49 

Then  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  hand — that  was  all ; 
and  they  went  into  the  house. 

Alone  in  the  dusky  library  Mr.  Felmere  sat  waiting. 
Helen  paused  near  the  door,  and  let  Philip  tell  the  deci- 
sion ;  then  her  father  called  her. 

"  Helen  !  "  and  there  was  in  his  voice  a  gentle  ring 
of  happiness  she  had  never  heard  before.  "  My  darling, 
I  thank  you."  That  was  all  he  said.  Then  she  knelt  by 
his  chair  and  listened  to  him  as  he  agreed  with  Philip  in 
his  plan,  that  the  next  day  a  magistrate  and  a  license 
should  be  procured  and  the  contract  between  them  be 
made  binding. 

And  all  that  night  Helen  lay  awake  schooling  herself 
to  what  she  thought  her  duty. 

Poor  child,  with  no  mother  and  no  God,  trouble 
came  hard ! 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

"  I  ana  digging  my  warm  heart, 
Till  I  find  its  coldest  part : 
I  am  digging  wide  and  low, 
Further  than  a  spade  will  go  : 
Till  that  when  the  pit  is  deep 
And  large  enough,  I  there  may  heap 
All  my  present  pain  and  past 
Joy,  dead  things  that  look  aghast 
By  the  daylight.     Now  'tis  done !  " 

THE  second  day  after  Helen's  decision  drew  round  at 
last,  although  to  her  it  seemed  to  linger  unnaturally  in 
its  coming.      A  gray,  wan  day,  with  neither  sun  nor 
3 


50  THE  FELMERES. 

shadow — a  gray  sky  drawn  over  a  gray  world !  The 
solitary  maple-tree  in  the  churchyard  stood  gaunt  and 
bare  against  the  sky,  looking  as  though  it  were  made 
from  the  bones  that  lay  at  its  roots.  The  priest-house 
on  the  hill  looked  cold  and  bleak,  and  the  far-away  cry 
of  the  sea  wandered  sad  and  strange  across  the  flats. 
Helen  leaned  idly  from  her  chamber  window,  not  even 
thinking ;  and  if  one  had  asked  her  what  she  was  doing, 
she  might  have  answered,  "  Trying  to  see  the  wind"  ;  for 
her  eyes  were  endeavoring  to  follow  it  as  it  swept  from 
the  maple-tree  to  the  hollyhocks  that  stood  in  the  Hall 
garden,  then  off  across  the  marsh. 

At  last  she  saw  the  magistrate  and  the  lawyer  arrive ; 
and  in  a  little  while  her  father  called  her  down.  She 
was  glad,  for  she  longed  for  the  ceremony  to  be  over 
that  Philip  might  go.  First  the  settlements  were  read 
and  assented  to ;  then  the  magistrate  began  a  short,  sim- 
ple ceremony,  with  the  lawyer,  Peter,  and  Jane  for  wit- 
nesses— no  one  else. 

"  Hold  up  your  hand  and  swear  by  Almighty  God ! " 
the  magistrate  said.  There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and 
the  girl  said  quietly  : 

"But  I  do  not  believe  in  your  Almighty  God." 
Philip  paled  down  to  the  lips ;  old  Jane  raised  her  hands 
in  horror ;  Mr.  Felmere  frowned  ;  the  magistrate  paused 
shocked,  and  turned  to  the  lawyer.  Helen  stood  quiet, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  gleam  of  hope  in 
her  eyes. 

"  It  makes  no  difference,"  the  lawyer  said ;  "  if  she 
does  it  willingly  it  is  just  as  binding  under  the  law." 

"It  is  the  prescribed  formula,  my  daughter,"  Mr. 
Felmere  said  reprovingly,  "  and  you  must  say  it." 


THE   FELMERES.  51 

"  I  will,"  the  girl  answered ;  "  I  only  spoke  lest  it 
might  make  some  difference  in  the  legality  of  the  cere- 
mony." 

Then  the  magistrate  went  on,  and  Helen  swore  by  a 
God  she  did  not  believe  in,  and  took  an  oath  that  meant 
nothing  more  to  her  than  the  simple  promise  she  had 
given  her  father.  After  that  they  all  signed  their  names, 
and  it  was  over  !  A  pitiful,  heart-breaking  farce  it 
seemed  to  Helen,  and  to  the  lookers-on  a  mockery. 

A  gloom  had  settled  on  Philip ;  and  the  shocked  look 
that  had  come  over  the  magistrate's  face  at  Helen's  denial 
did  not  wear  off  during  the  quiet  and  decorous  serving  of 
the  cold  lunch  that  came  after  the  ceremony.  Then  the 
lawyer  and  the  magistrate  went  away,  and  Philip  lingered 
only  a  few  moments.  Poor  fellow  !  his  heart  was  very 
heavy  ;  he  wrung  his  uncle's  hand  as  he  thanked  him  for 
his  kindness  and  his  affection,  then  turned  to  Helen. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said  quietly,  holding  out  her  hand. 
He  took  it  in  both  of  his,  and  stood  looking  into  the 
great  sad  eyes  that  met  his  so  unflinchingly,  so  unan- 
sweringly. 

Mr.  Felmere  turned  away. 

"  Helen,  you  do  not  love  me  ? " 

"  No,  Philip,  but  I  shall  try  in  time  to  do  it." 

"  Thank  you."  Then  he  kissed  her  as  a  brother 
might  have  done,  and  left  her. 

"  Gone  !  what  rest !  "  she  whispered  to  herself,  and, 
with  a  feeling  of  infinite  relief,  went  to  change  her  dress, 
putting  on  one  that  was  carefully  selected  as  having  no 
associations  with  Philip  or  his  visit. 

Yery  quietly  the  household  settled  again  into  the 
usual  routine,  and  Helen  more  than  all  tried  to  step  back 


52  THE  FELMERES. 

into  the  old  life  as  it  had  been  before  Philip  came. 
She  took  up  the  old  books  at  the  old  places ;  began  again 
her  regular  walks ;  read  to  her  father  as  had  been  their 
habit  every  evening  since  she  had  learned  to  read  until 
Philip  interrupted  them  ;  and  actually  longed  to  go  back 
to  the  thin  dresses  she  had  been  wearing  in  September. 
Her  old  thoughts,  that  had  so  much  worried  her,  came 
back  to  her  easily  enough,  but  in  a  very  different  light. 
How  foolishly  she  had  hunted  up  trouble  for  herself,  as 
though  it  would  not  come  in  due  time  and  ready  made  ! 
Worrying  herself  about  decaying  creeds  and  an  impos- 
sible immortality — waking  to  find  herself  face  to  face 
with  heartbreaking  truths  and  a  miserable  present ! 
Death  would  be  bliss  to  her  now,  if  it  came  to  her  before 
it  took  her  father,  for  then  she  need  never  be  Philip's  wife  ! 

And  Philip  carried  in  his  heart  a  growing  terror.  A 
godless  woman  !  a  woman  who  held  no  higher  law  than 
her  own  will — who  could  be  bound  by  no  fetters  but  her 
love  !  What  a  strange  and  awful  thing !  He  loved  her 
wildly,  madly,  deeply ;  he  loved  her  beauty,  her  grace, 
her  intellect.  She  would  shine  a  brilliant  star  in  the 
world  where  he  would  place  her ;  but,  alas !  unless  she 
loved  him,  what  hold  had  he  over  her  ?  How  quietly 
she  had  stood  up  and  said,  "  I  do  not  believe  in  your 
God  "  !  —  not  timidly,  not  defiantly,  but  calmly,  uncon- 
cernedly, as  though  it  were  some  trivial  matter  that  it 
might  be  necessary  to  have  known,  yet  something  too 
settled  ever  to  be  questioned.  God  forgive  him  ! 

His  mother  had  welcomed  him  gayly  :  he  was  a  good 
son,  and  had  carried  out  her  wishes  far  beyond  all  expec- 
tation. But  her  triumph  was  a  little  dampened  by  Phil- 
ip's solemn  looks. 


THE   FELMERES.  53 

"  What  is  it,  my  son,  that  worries  you  ? " 

"  Mother,  she  is  such  a  fearful  skeptic ! "  he  answered 
almost  under  his  breath,  as  though  it  was  wrong  to  men- 
tion it. 

"  Well,  you  knew  that  when  you  first  met  her  ;  why 
is  it  you  are  only  now  affected  by  it  \  " 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  few  moments  ;  then  he  told 
her  of  the  scene  before  the  magistrate. 

"  And,  mother,  she  said  it  as  coolly  as  you  would  say, 
'  I  do  not  like  that  book,  or  that  picture ' ;  it  seemed  to 
be  of  almost  too  little  consequence  to  her  to  be  men- 
tioned. It  shocked  me  terribly  ! " 

"  Ah,  well,  she  is  young  yet,"  the  mother  said  reas- 
suringly, "  and  we  can  easily  change  and  tame  her  when 
she  comes  to  us  and  is  from  under  the  influence  of  her 
father.  He  must  be  a  wicked  old  man." 

Philip  shook  his  head. 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  is  charming ;  he  is  the  most 
finished  gentleman  and  scholar  I  have  ever  met — thor- 
oughly moral  and  high-toned,  and  with  exquisitely  refined 
tastes.  This  unbelief  is  the  honest  conviction  of  his 
mind ;  else  he  could  not  have  deliberately  trained  his 
only  child  to  it." 

"  Put  it  as  you  may,  Philip,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered 
severely,  "  unbelief  is  wicked.  I  think,  however,  that 
the  girl  may  be  easily  converted.  Is  she  really  so  beau- 
tiful?" 

"  Perfectly  so,"  the  son  answered  earnestly,  as  the 
memory  of  his  wife  came  over  him.  "  She  is  faultless 
in  her  appearance,  though  I  think  in  her  ideas  she  is  a 
little  too  independent,  and  a  little  too  much  given  to 
reasoning  things  back  to  first  principles.  But  these 


54  THE   FELMERES. 

faults  are  due  to  her  tram  ing,  for  her  father  argues  with 
her  as  he  would  with  a  son,  and  gives  her  a  why  and  a 
wherefore  for  everything  under  the  sun.  Yery  often  I 
could  not  answer  her.  But  about  her  beauty  you  need 
have  no  fears ;  it  is  unquestionable." 

Mrs.  Felinere  listened  attentively,  and  nodded  her 
head  complacently  when  he  finished. 

"  All  the  faults  you  mention  are  easily  enough  cor- 
rected," she  said — "  much  more  so  than  awkwardness  or 
ill-breeding ;  and  I  would  not  let  them  worry  me.  All 
she  needs  is  a  woman's  influence,  and  I  can  give  her 
that."  So  Mrs.  Felmere  in  her  perfect  self-confidence, 
and  without  the  slightest  conception  of  the  character  she 
would  have  to  deal  with,  planned  her  daughter-in-law's 
future  training. 

But  Philip  knew  better;  for,  although  he  was  far 
from  a  thorough  understanding  of  Helen,  and  had  not 
by  any  means  touched  the  depths  of  her  thoughts  or  her 
unbelief,  yet  he  felt  sure  that,  strong-willed  as  his  mother 
was,  she  would  be  powerless  to  change  his  wife.  He  did 
not  say  this,  however,  as  he  did  not  care  to  have  a  fruit- 
less argument ;  and  besides,  he  thought  that  it  might  be 
wiser  to  let  his  mother  build  her  own  ideal,  and  dream 
her  own  dreams  about  the  girl,  than  to  give  her  a  bad 
impression  of  her.  But  he  realized  fully  that  he  had 
made  a  mistake,  and  his  remembrances  of  Felmere  de- 
pressed him. 

It  was  a  new  thing  to  him  to  have  painful  thoughts, 
and  he  strove  to  throw  them  off  by  change  of  scene.  He 
had  never  in  his  life  been  able  to  live  under  a  burden  ; 
whatever  annoyed  him  he  cast  aside  without  a  glance  at 
the  consequences  ;  and  in  time  it  was  so  with  this. 


THE   FELMERES.  55 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Name  and  fame !  to  fly  sublime 

Through  the  courts,  the  camps,  the  schools, 
Is  to  be  the  ball  of  Time, 

Bandied  in  the  hands  of  fools. 

All  the  windy  ways  of  men 
Are  but  dust  that,  rises  up 
And  is  lightly  laid  again." 

THE  winter  settled  down  grimly  over  Felmere  Hall. 
The  snow-drifts  were  deepest  there,  the  clouds  heaviest, 
for  the  wind  had  a  wider  sweep  in  which  to  gather 
strength. 

To  Helen  it  seemed  that  through  all  that  long  season 
the  sun  never  shone ;  there  was  nothing  but  snow  and 
ice,  sleet  and  fog,  the  wild  cry  of  the  sea,  and  the  long 
howl  of  the  wind.  She  never  remembered  such  a  win- 
ter !  At  last  the  outside  world  became  so  dreary,  that 
she  was  driven  into  an  effort  to  make  the  home-life  more 
cheerful.  Of  course,  books  were  the  first  things  she 
thought  of;  and  the  only  occasion  when  she  felt  in  the 
least  obliged  to  her  uncle  for  his  money  was  when  she 
saw  the  look  of  intense  satisfaction  which  came  on  her 
father's  face  as  he  turned  over  some  long-desired  book. 

This  was  a  pleasure  to  her,  but  her  aunt's  letters  were 
not.  The  monthly  letters  Mrs.  Felmere  wrote  Helen 
were  truly  a  burden ;  and  through  them  Helen  was  learn- 
ing to  dislike  Philip's  mother.  She  believed  her  aunt  to 


56  THE   FELMERES. 

i 

be  somewhat  of  a  hypocrite,  and  said  so  without  hesita- 
tion. Mr.  Felmere,  driven  to  the  wall,  acknowledged 
that  there  was  truth  in  her  argument,  but  warned  her 
against  the  danger  of  allowing  this  feeling  to  gain 
strength. 

"  Accept  your  aunt's  failings  as  facts,  my  child,  and 
bear  with  them  as  calmly  as  I  hope  you  will  with  all  the 
unavoidable  ills  of  life." 

"  And  I  do  not  doubt  that  they  will  be  many,"  the 
girl  answered. 

"  Yery  probably  so ;  but  be  careful  that  you  do  not 
make  most  of  them  for  yourself." 

"  How,  father  ?  " 

"  By  this  spirit  of  intolerance  of  which  you  are  pos- 
sessed. You  must  not  despise  the  stupid  nor  those  who 
find  interest  in  trifles.  I  tell  you  there  is  much  wisdom 
in  being  able  to  lose  one's  self  in  small  pleasures.  True 
wisdom  and  happiness  lie  in  adapting  yourself  to  what- 
ever state  of  life  you  may  be  driven  to  fill ;  else  you  will 
always  be  tearing  yourself  against  the  corners  of  other 
people's  prejudices,  and  making  your  existence  a  burden. 
Another  good  rule  is  to  keep  your  opinions  to  yourself 
until  they  are  asked  for,  then  announce  them  as  mildly 
as  you  can.  Above  all,  be  polite  to  fools,  for  they  are 
the  most  dangerous  enemies." 

Helen  laughed. 

"  Does  the  world  so  abound  in  fools  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  does  indeed,  and  necessarily ;  for  every  man, 
having  an  ideal  of  a  fool  other  than  himself,  creates 
many.  Therefore  you  should  learn  to  tolerate,  and  espe- 
cially those  who  think  you  a  fool ;  for  of  course  there 
will  always  be  some  who  do." 


THE  FELMERES.  57 

"  I  am  sorry  I  shall  have  to  go  into  the  world,"  she 
said  slowly. 

"  It  is  the  fate  of  every  one,  sooner  or  later,"  her 
father  replied  ;  "  and  the  only  plan  is  to  enjoy  as  much 
as  possible  its  pleasures,  to  politely  ignore  its  opinions  if 
you  know  you  are  right,  and  to  strive  to  become  wiser 
through  witnessing  the  folly  of  the  many." 

"  If  I  could  only  have  you  for  my  guide  !  "  she  cried 
bitterly,  laying  her  head  on  his  knee.  He  smoothed  her 
hair  gently  as  he  answered  : 

"  That  can  not  be,  my  child,  for  now  I  am  too  old. 
But  I  feel  that  you  will  be  safe,  guided  by  your  own 
good  sense,  and  Philip's  love ;  and  this  feeling  makes 
me  willing  to  die." 

"  Oh,  father,  hush  !  Without  you  the  world  will  be 
empty ! " 

"  There  will  be  Philip." 

"  Don't  mention  Philip  !  "  she  cried  sharply  ;  "  for  if 
Philips  grew  on  every  tree,  still  would  the  world  be 
empty ! " 

"  Helen,  Helen,  how  silly  !  Where  are  all  my  teach- 
ings— where  is  the  philosophic  calm  that  is  to  raise  you 
above  yourself  ? " 

"  Will  this  philosophic  calm  till  all  my  heart  and  life 
— quiet  all  my  love,  and  dry  up  all  my  tears  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Even  so — it  can." 

"  Ay,  and  turn  me  into  stone  !  " 

"  ]STo.  One  can  be  calm  without  being  petrified  ;  can 
pity  the  sorrows  of  others  and  his  own,  yet,  accepting 
them  as  inevitable,  see  the  folly  of  grieving  over  them. 
Child,  I  tell  you  there  is  a  height  that,  once  reached, 
frees  you  from  all  trammels.  There  you  can  stand,  and, 


58  THE   FELMERES. 

looking  down,  see  the  world  beneath  you  like  ant-hills, 
and  its  troubles  like  the  black  insects  that  crawl  in  and 
out." 

"  Would  not  such  a  height  cause  a  woman's  brain  to 
turn  ?  "  Helen  asked ;  "  for  I  was  almost  persuaded  by 
Philip  that  woman  is  altogether  a  lower  animal." 

Mr.  Felmere  answered  slowly  : 

"  So  some  men  think,  but  I  can  not  see  why.  Your 
mind  is  surely  equal  to  Philip's.  But  even  in  this,  my 
daughter — and  more,  perhaps,  in  this  than  in  other  things 
— you  should  be  quiet,  not  asserting  that  your  mind  is  as 
strong,  but  show  it — prove  it  by  your  very  quiet." 

There  was  a  little  pause  ;  then  Helen  said  suddenly  : 

"  If  I  should  choose  to  break  my  oath  to  Philip,  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent." 

Mr.  Felmere  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Nothing,  save  your  word." 

"  And  if  I  chose  to  break  my  word  ? " 

"  You  would  shame  me  for  ever ! " 

"  How  ? " 

"  Because  you  would  be  breaking  faith  ;  and  all  the 
world  holds  this  code  of  truth  to  your  neighbor." 

"Why?" 

"  Why  !  Why,  else  how  would  the  world  be  kept  in 
order?  Think  of  the  anarchy  that  would  ensue — the 
lying,  stealing,  murder,  and  all  disorders  that  would  be 
rife  among  us  !  How  can  you  ask  why  ? " 

"  But  if  I  cared  more  for  my  own  comfort  than  for 
this  principle,  what  then  ? " 

"  Why,  then  the  law  would  hold  you  to  it,  for  you 
were  willingly  bound." 

"  And  the  law  could  drag  me  to  Philip's  house  and 


THE   FELMERES.  59 

make  me  live  there — I  know  that.  But,  father,  how  can 
an  unbeliever  be  kept  up  to  the  spirit  of  his  promise  ? " 

"In  no  way,"  Mr.  Felmere  answered,  "save  by  a 
love  for  the  truth  and  for  your  fellow  creatures — a  love 
that  should  be  cultivated,  for  it  is  not  natural.  Culti- 
vated, else  we  would  be  lower  than  the  beasts ;  for  look 
throughout  nature,  and  you  will  find  all  things,  even  the 
smallest  insects,  working  under  laws  that  are  for  the  good 
of  all  living  creatures.  And  shall  we  be  lower  than  they  ? 
Shall  we  alone  look  only  for  our  own  benefit,  and  leave 
our  neighbor  in  the  ditch  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  wiser  under  some  circumstances,"  Helen 
answered.  "If  my  neighbor  were  rich  in  every  sense  of 
the  word,  mentally,  physically,  and  financially — a  man 
who  would  advance  civilization  and  science,  and  so  aid  all 
humanity — why,  then  of  course  help  him  out  of  the  ditch. 
But  if  he  were  an  indigent  cripple,  who  only  consumed, 
giving  no  return,  must  we  not  leave  him  there?  He 
could  only  do  harm  to  his  race,  and  in  no  way  advance 
civilization."  . 

"  He  could  help  civilization  by  showing  himself  an 
example  of  how  it  strives  to  raise  all,  and  to  ameliorate 
the  woful  condition  of  the  poor,"  Mr.  Felmere  answered 
promptly. 

"And  is  it  not,"  Helen  went  on,  "  by  bolstering  up 
the  weak  and  diseased,  and  by  prolonging  their  lives,  that 
the  whole  human  race  is  degenerated  ?  For  children  in- 
herit the  weakness  of  their  parents.  Therefore  the  man 
must  be  left  in  the  ditch,  and  civilization  is  a  wrong  to 
the  human  race." 

"Even  so,"  Mr.  Felmere  answered;  "and  at  the 
present  stage  civilization  may  do  somewhat  of  evil  in 


60  THE  FELMERES. 

that  way.  Bat  in  ages  to  come  may  it  not  so  advance 
as  to  raise  the  whole  to  a  higher  level ;  when  men  and 
women  wfll  be  educated  enough  and  pore  enough  to  gee 
the  virtue  and  good  of  'natural  selection';  when  the 
profit  of  the  world  win  be  to  a  man  as  his  own  good  I 
Do  yon  think  this  an  impossible  dream  ?  " 

"Sot  impossible,  perhaps,  bat  improbable;  and  I 
mart  say  that  Christianity  seems  to  me  a  very  valuable 
institution,  giving,  as  it  does,  to  the  ignorant  masses  a 
system  of  rewards  and  punishments  which,  being  to  them 
of  divine  commandment,  they  fear  to  transgress.  I  think 
it  would  be  a  dangerous  thing  to  free  them  from  this,  to 
{hem,  divine  law,  until  education  has  reached  a  for  higher 
level  than  it  now  occupies." 

"  Yery  well,  and  let  them  keep  it ;  bnt  only  acknowl- 
edge that  a  noble  nature  rises  above  rewards  and  punish- 


"Perhaps;  but  only  the  few  are  noble,  and  the  laws 
must  be  made  for  the  many." 

"And  in  the  future  may  not  the  few  be  base  and  the 
many  noble 

"  It  is  but  a  chance." 

"Nay,  child,  it  is  more  than  a  chance.  Judge  the 
future  by  the  past.  We  are  no  farther  in  advance  of 
primeval  man  than  the  future  man  may  stand  in  advance 
of  us ;  and  where  would  that  place  him  ?  " 

"On  the  barren  height  of  passionless  expediency," 
she  answered. 

"  On  the  glorious  height  of  perfect  philosophy  I "  Mr. 
Fehnere  retorted  quickly ;  then  more  gently:  "My  child, 
yon  lean  to  the  weaker  side." 

And  she  answered :  "My  father,  I  am  a  woman," 


THE  FELMEEES.  61 


CHAPTER   Till. 

"So, 

Plodding  on  through  life's  dull  mist, 
"We  meet  oar  fate  and  know  it  not." 

AT  last  the  fury  of  the  winter  was  spent,  and  the  tired 
earth  had  rest.  Day  after  day  the  patient  sun  came  and 
warmed  it,  until  over  all  the  land  a  pale-green  shadow 
crept,  and  a  fresh  sweet  smell  came  borne  on  the  pure 
warm  air.  And  down  at  Felmere  the  one  heart  young 
enough  to  long  for  the  sweet  glad  spring  watched  with 
hopeless  eyes  to  see  it  come.  A  mental  and  physical 
languidness  came  with  the  warm  southern  air,  and,  with- 
out energy  either  to  study  or  paint,  Helen  spent  whole 
days  out  in  the  sunshine.  The  garden  and  churchyard 
were  quite  alive  with  the  buzzing  and  humming  of  many 
insects,  and  she  liked  to  stand  and  listen  to  them.  At 
other  times  she  would  watch  the  snails  and  slugs  come 
out  on  the  old  wall  and  wind  their  slow  way  so  aimlessly 
to  and  fro,  leaving  long  shining  tracks  to  show  where 
they  had  been.  She  spent  long  hours  resting  under  the 
maple-tree,  following  with  dreamy  eyes  the  white  clouds 
drifting  across  the  sky,  and  hearing  with  half-heeding 
ears  the  far-away  song  of  some  ditcher  or  cow-boy.  She 
would  half  envy  the  laborer  and  the  living  creatures  about 
her  their  careless  content;  even  the  stupid  slugs  and 
snails  were  better  off  than  she,  in  that  they  did  not  rea- 
lize the  uselessness  of  things.  They  did  not  know  there 


62  THE  FELMERES. 

was  nothing  to  strive  for  but  the  perfection  of  some  far- 
off  generation  of  the  human  race ;  and  that  when,  after 
years  and  ages  of  pain  and  longing — through  oceans  of 
blood  and  tears,  and  endless  streams  of  broken  hearts 
and  bitter  strife  —  this  much-desired  end  should  be  at- 
tained, the  end  would  come,  and  all  would  go  for  noth- 
ing !  Happy  slugs,  that  could  not  realize  the  end  of  all ! 
Better,  far  better  to  grovel  in  the  lowest  depths  of  igno- 
rance than  to  rise  to  this  despair  of  knowledge ! 

One  afternoon  at  the  end  of  May  she  leaned  half 
dreaming  from  her  window,  watching  a  sudden  rain-storm 
driving  across  the  marsh.  How  swiftly  it  came,  and  in 
what  solid  sheets  the  rain  seemed  to  fall,  hiding  all  the 
land!  Presently  it  reached  her  window,  and,  with  a 
little  dash  into  her  sweet  fair  face,  drove  her  away.  She 
shivered  as  the  cool  wind  struck  her,  and  closing  the 
window  went  down  to  the  library,  where  every  evening 
a  fire  was  made  for  her  father.  She  had  scarcely  taken 
her  seat  when  she  heard  a  sharp  knocking  at  the  front 
door,  and.  feeling  great  pity  for  the  hapless  creature  wait- 
ing there,  ran  to  open  it  herself. 

"  Can  you  give  me  shelter  until  the  rain  is  over  ? "  a 
man's  voice  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered ;  "  come  in,"  and,  open- 
ing the  library  door,  led  the  dripping  stranger  in. 

"  Father,  this  gentleman  has  been  caught  in  the  rain," 
she  said,  "  and  seeks  shelter  here." 

Mr.  Felmere  rose  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  am  only  sorry,  sir,  that  you  did  not  reach  us 
sooner.  Helen,  call  the  servant  to  show  the  gentleman 
a  room." 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself,"  the  young  man  began; 


THE  FELMERES.  63 

but  Helen  had  already  gone,  and  he  could  only  do  as  he 
was  bidden — put  aside  his  knapsack,  and  take  a  seat. 

Helen,  meanwhile,  being  in  quite  a  little  excitement, 
went  herself  with  the  servant  to  make  preparation  for 
the  stranger's  comfort ;  and  it  was  not  very  long  before 
she  returned  to  the  library  followed  by  Peter. 

There  was  quite  a  little  cloud  of  steam  about  the  poor 
wet -man  when  she  entered,  and  he,  looking  thoroughly 
uncomfortable,  seemed  as  though  he  would  be  glad  to  fol- 
low Peter  anywhere. 

"I  wonder  who  he  is,  and  where  he  came  from," 
Helen  said  when  she  heard  the  receding  footsteps  fading 
in  the  distance. 

"He  introduced  himself  as  Felix  Gordon,"  her  father 
answered,  "and  said  the  rain  had  caught  him  while 
sketching  in  the  marsh  near  the  river.  He  seems  to  be 
a  gentleman,  and  will  of  course  have  to  remain  here  to- 
night, as  this  rain  promises  to  continue." 

"I  hope  he  will  be  easy  to  entertain,"  Helen  said, 
with  a  remembrance  of  Philip's  first  evening. 

"  He  seems  well-bred  and  at  his  ease,"  her  father 
went  on ;  "  and  if  he  is  one  of  a  family  of  Gordons  I 
once  knew,  he  is  a  gentleman.  But  the  name  is  a  com- 
mon one,  and  I  doubt  if  he  even  knows  them." 

"  It  will  be  pleasant  if  he  is  one  of  your  friends," 
Helen  said  almost  anxiously;  "for  then  you  will  have 
something  in  common." 

"He  seems  quite  intelligent,"  her  father  answered; 
"  I  do  not  think  conversation  will  be  hard  to  make." 

Then  he  returned  to  his  book ;  but  Helen  in  her  low 
arm-chair  found  it  more  entertaining  to  think. 

During  Philip's  visit  she  had  often  and  bitterly  longed 


64  THE  FELMERES. 

for  the  lost  monotony  of  other  days,  and  was  for  a  time 
honestly  glad  to  get  it  back  again ;  but,  having  once  had 
a  taste  of  a  more  exciting  kind  of  life,  she  found  the  mo- 
notony she  had  so  longed  for  rather  irksome.  She  was 
'consistent  in  that,  if  given  the  choice,  she  would  have 
instantly  chosen  the  monotony  in  preference  to  Philip — 
inconsistent,  because  this  stranger  was  welcome  to  her. 
She  argued  all  this  out  as  she  sat  looking  into  the  fire, 
and  drew  a  little  sigh  as  she  recognized  the  fact  that,  in 
spite  of  all  her  reasoning,  all  her  training,  all  her  indif- 
ference, Philip  was  still  a  disagreeable  thought  to  her. 
A  hopeless  look  came  over  her  face.  Was  it  worth 
while  to  go  on  training  and  schooling  herself?  "Would 
it  ever  do  any  good  ? 

The  rain  still  poured  in  torrents,  the  evening  dark- 
ened rapidly  into  night,  and  the  only  cheerful  thing 
seemed  to  be  the  firelight.  It  burned  cheerily  enough, 
making  ghostly  flickering  shadows  in  the  far  corners, 
touching  into  brightness  the  dark  pictures  and  pale  stat- 
ues, throwing  its  fullest  glare  over  the  white  chiseled 
beauty  of  the  old  man,  and  falling  in  vivid  lights  and 
shadows  about  the  girl. 

The  picture  satisfied  the  artistic  eye  of  the  stranger 
standing  unperceived  within  the  door.  The  extraordi- 
nary beauty  and  sadness  of  the  girl's  face  and  the  cold 
calmness  of  the  old  man's  expression  touched  him :  the 
one  looking  as  though  he  had  met  his  fate,  and  by  sub- 
mission had  conquered  it;  the  other,  the  younger  and 
fairer,  as  though  her  fate  was  even  now  touching  her,  and 
with  a  heavy  hand ! 

It  was  only  a  moment  that  he  stood  thus — a  moment 
wherein  he  saw  their  true  souls  gleaming  on  their  faces, 


THE  FELMERES.  65 

unconsciously  unveiled !  Then  he  came  forward,  and 
they,  rising,  greeted  him  as  though  he  had  been  some 
welcome  friend.  It  made  him  feel  almost  thankful  to 
the  rain  for  his  introduction,  and,  taking  a  kindly  offered 
chair,  he  joined  the  little  circle  about  the  fire. 

The  souls  had  gone  out  of  the  faces  now,  and  he  only 
saw  before  him  an  old  student  and  his  beautiful  daugh- 
ter; but  in  that  glimpse  he  had  discovered  enough  to 
make  him  wonder  what  their  lives  had  been — or  rather, 
how  life  had  ever  touched  them  in  this  quiet,  out-of-the- 
way  place. 

Some  talk  ensued  about  the  weather  and  his  accident ; 
then  Mr.  Felmere  asked : 

"  What  did  you  find  to  make  a  picture  of  down  in  the 
marsh  ? " 

"  The  desolation  is  in  itself  a  picture,"  the  young  man 
answered. 

Helen  looked  up :  so  some  one  else  found  poetry  in 
bareness. 

"  You  are  an  artist,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  my  profession,"  he  answered  simply. 

"  Then  you  know  all  about  it  ? " 

"  Not  all,  but  somewhat,"  smiling  at  the  eager  com- 
prehensiveness of  the  question. 

"  I  mean,  of  course,  in  comparison  with  a  beginner." 

"Are  you  a  beginner?" 

He  did  not  particularly  desire  to  see  her  attempts,  but 
he  did  wish  her  not  to  stop  talking,  for  he  liked  to  see 
the  expression  come  and  go  on  her  face. 

"  Yes,  and  there  is  something  very  wrong  in  my  at- 
tempts." 

"  I  shall  take  great  pleasure  in  looking  over  them," 


66  THE  FELMERES. 

he  said,  with  undefined  expectations  as  to  perspectives 
and  impossible  lights  and  shadows. 

"  My  daughter  is  a  very  ardent  artist,"  Mr.  Felmere 
said,  making  excuse  for  the  girl's  abrupt  introduction  of 
her  dearest  occupation.  "  Outside  of  books,  she  has  no- 
thing else  to  do." 

Then  dinner  was  announced,  and  passed  more  than 
pleasantly,  as  Mr.  Felmere  really  found  in  the  young 
man  a  son  of  an  early  friend,  one  of  the  veritable  Gor- 
dons of  his  youth.  This  pleased  Mr.  Felmere,  and  he 
insisted  that  Felmere  Hall  must  be  made  the  young 
man's  headquarters,  from  which  to  make  his  sketching 
tours,  instead  of  Felmere  village ;  and  Felix  assented 
gladly. 

Once  more  settled  in  the  library,  Felix  asked  for 
Helen's  drawings.  One  after  another  he  looked  at  them, 
and  laid  them  down.  There  was  imagination,  life,  and 
power  in  them  all,  and  visible  signs  of  thorough  teaching. 
He  scanned  them  carefully  and  thoughtfully,  forgetting 
to  make  any  comments  in  his  effort  to  look  into  the  soul 
that  conceived  them.  What  was  it  that  made  them  such 
dreary  pictures  ?  The  marsh  was  not  strictly  the  marsh, 
but  seemed  rather  the  allegorical  depicting  of  some  deso- 
late life ;  and  the  churchyard  made  death  seem  a  hope- 
less thing.  Then,  taking  up  a  pencil,  he  put  in  with  one 
or  two  strokes  what  Helen  felt  the  picture  needed,  and 
yet  that  which  she  had  not  been  able  to  give  it — that 
which  her  master  did  not  seem  to  comprehend  as  a  want 
in  the  picture. 

"  How  do  you  know  so  well  what  I  wanted  to  express 
in  my  picture? "  she  asked,  looking  at  him  with  increased 
respect.  "  My  master  did  not  know." 


THE  FELMERES.  67 

"  Because,  perhaps,  I  think  the  same  thoughts  about 
the  scene  that  you  do,  and  thus  know  what  you  mean. 
Your  master  does  not  think  with  you,  but  he  has  taught 
you  well." 

Then  he  went  on  criticising  all  she  had  done  in  colors 
as  well  as  in  mere  sketches,  all  the  while  making  in  his 
own  mind  a  picture  wherein  Helen  should  stand  as 
"Elaine  the  Fair."  Later  on  she  would  make  a  won- 
derful Guinevere;  for  even  now  her  face  was  far  too 
thoughtful  and  too  strong  for  the  simple  maid  of  As- 
tolat. 

So  the  evening  passed  swiftly,  and  Helen  was  sur- 
prised when  her  father  signified  that  it  was  time  for  them 
to  put  up  their  work. 

"  And  your  luggage  shall  be  brought  from  the  village 
in  the  morning,"  he  said  to  Felix;  "and  I  hope  you 
realize,  Mr.  Gordon,  how  much  pleasure  you  are  giving 
us.  "We  lived  our  lives  contented  here  until  my  nephew 
Philip  came ;  but  since  then  we  have  been  lonely,  and 
your  coming  is  a  gratification." 

And  Felix  fell  asleep  that  night  wondering  who  Philip 
was. 


68  THE  FELMERES. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  What  find  I  in  the  highest  place 

But  mine  own  phantom  chanting  hymns? 
And  on  the  depths  of  death  there  swims 
The  reflex  of  a  human  face." 

So  Felix  stayed.  He  sketched,  even  as  Helen  had 
done,  the  marsh,  the  church,  the  churchyard,  the  Hall, 
and  the  river ;  then  he  made  a  journey  inland. 

During  his  absence  Helen  worked  hard  at  a  task  he 
had  set  her  to  do — a  sketch  of  her  father,  which  he  wanted 
as  a  study  for  a  picture  of  "  King  Arthur  " — King  Ar- 
thur as  he  stands  forgiving  his  fallen  queen.  She  faith- 
fully copied  her  father's  features,  but  stole  the  expression 
from  the  miniature  of  her  grandfather.  She  worked 
honestly  at  it,  striving  to  finish  it  before  Felix's  return, 
which  might  take  place  any  day.  She  was  anxious  to  do 
it  without  advice  from  him,  and  have  it  ready  for  his 
criticism. 

One  evening,  after  she  Had  finished  and  put  her  work 
away,  she  went  to  sit  under  the  maple-tree,  on  a  broad 
flat  tombstone  that  made  a  very  comfortable  resting- 
place.  She  half  expected  Felix  this  afternoon,  but  did  not 
chance  to  see  him  until  he  clanged  the  churchyard  gate 
behind  him.  How  his  face  lighted  up  when  he  saw  her ; 
how  little  he  said ;  how  strong  the  clasp  of  his  hand ! 
Then,  unstrapping  his  knapsack,  he  threw  it  and  his  staff 
down  together  and  took  his  seat  beside  her. 


THE   FELMERES.  69 

"  I  feel  like  a  pilgrim,"  lie  said,  "  who  after  long  toil 
has  at  last  reached  his  shrine." 

"  Two  weeks  are  not  very  long,"  she  answered,  smil- 
ing. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Time  varies,"  he  said,  "  being  sometimes  a  short 
long  time,  and  again  a  long  short  time;  for,  although 
very  old,  Time  seems  still  in  his  unequal  youth,  and  is 
not  to  be  depended  on.  He  is  fortunate  to  keep  his  youth 
so  long." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  count  him  so  fortunate,"  Helen 
answered  slowly.  "  I  am  not  sure  I  look  on  youth  as 
very  desirable." 

u  Why  ? "  Felix  questioned  quickly. 

"  There  are  various  '  whys.'  One  has  so  much  to  learn 
from  youth  to  age — so  much  to  bear." 

"  So  much  to  love — so  much  to  hope — so  much  happy 
work  to  do,"  he  interrupted,  shaking  his  head  at  her  re- 
provingly. 

"  Is  there  !  "  she  asked  sadly. 

"  Is  there  ?  Why,  of  course  there  is !  Have  you 
never  felt  that  life  lay  all  before  you,  to  shape  it  as  you 
pleased  ?  that  there  was  nothing  you  could  not  wrest  from 
Time,  from  Fortune,  from  the  world  ?  Have  you  never 
felt  that  you  loved  all  your  fellows,  and  that  somewhere 
in  the  universe  there  was  one  love  waiting  for  you — one 
love  that  would  last  through  life  and  far  beyond  the  por- 
tals of  the  grave  ?  Have  you  never  felt  this  ? " 

"  Never." 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"  Why  is  that  ? "  he  asked  at  last.  "  You  are  young." 
Perhaps  he  now  would  touch  the  secret  of  her  soul. 


70  THE  FELMERES. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head ; 
"  all  of  life  is  a  hopeless  '  why '  to  me." 

"  Life  can  not  be  all  query,"  he  went  on  slowly ;  "  for 
until  man  defaced  it,  it  was  a  full,  rounded,  perfect  work 
from  God's  own  hands ;  and  even  now  it  has  been  left 
with  us  to  round  yet  again  to  perfectness ;  and  if  capa- 
ble of  perfection,  it  must  have  answers,  must  it  not  ? " 

"I  should  think  so" — then  more  hesitatingly — "if 
one  can  believe  the  answers." 

He  turned  on  her  a  startled  face. 

She  lowered  her  eyes  beneath  his  gaze,  and  there  was 
silence  between  them  while  he  scanned  her  downcast 
face,  and  tried  to  see  how  much  there  was  of  truth  in 
her  words. 

"  What  is  it  you  mean  ? "  he  asked  at  length. 

"Only  what  I  said,"  she  answered;  and  gathering 
again  her  self-possession,  she  went  on — "  only  that  I  do 
not  believe,  and  therefore  life  is  all  a  query  to  me." 

"  "What  is  it  you  do  not  believe  in  ? " 

"  Ah,  that  would  be  a  long  list !  Better  let  me  say 
what  I  do  believe  in." 

"  Tell  me  that,  then — what  you  do  believe  in." 

"  Matter  and  Force." 

"  No  God ! "  he  said,  almost  under  his  breath. 

"  Only  the  Unknowable." 

Involuntarily  he  made  a  gesture  to  draw  away  from 
her.  She  saw  it,  and,  paling  visibly,  rose  from  her  seat. 
He  started  forward  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her 
dress. 

"  Do  not  go,"  he  said  earnestly ;  "  talk  with  me  a  lit- 
tle longer.  I  am  sorry  for  you." 

She  paused,  looking  down  on  him  from  her  statelv 


THE   FELMERES.  71 

height;  and  he,  answering  her  look  from  his  lowly  po- 
sition, thought  he  had  never  seen  such  a  queenly  face 
and  bearing. 

"  Why  sorry  for  me  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Because  you  have  no  hope." 

"  Nor  any  fear,"  she  answered. 

"  Why  need  we  fear  if  we  live  aright  ?  Our  religion 
is  not  one  of  fear,  but  love." 

She  sat  down  again,  saying  slowly : 

"It  is  not  so  the  Church  teaches;  it  is  not  so  the 
masses  are  governed.  But  do  not  let  us  discuss  it.  You 
believe,  and  are  happy ;  so  would  I  be  if  I  could,  but 
I  can  not,  and  what  matter  ?  Death  ends  all ! " 

Felix  sat  silent,  looking  with  wonder  into  the  hope- 
less abyss  of  the  life  before  him.  Was  it  strange  that 
her  face  showed  so  much  sadness  ?  Alas,  he  did  not  see 
how  life  was  at  all  bearable  to  her  ! 

Force  and  Matter — what  an  awful  void ! 

"  How  is  life  bearable  to  you  ? "  he  asked  at  last. 

"Just  as  it  is  bearable  to  you,  I  suppose,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  I  have  the  comfort  of  Religion,"  he  said. 

"  And  I  of  Reason." 

"  How  can  Reason  comfort  you  in  sorrow  or  in  death  ? " 

"  It  tells  me  they  are  inevitable :  why  be  so  foolish  as 
to  mourn  ? " 

"And  when  death  comes,  can  you  bear  to  give  up 
those  you  love,  having  no  hope  of  a  resurrection  ?  Is 
death  to  you  simply  a  returning  to  dust  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  and  a  redistribution  of  force. 
Perhaps,  if  the  world  lasts  long  enough,  the  same  force 
and  matter  may  come  together  again  and  make  another 


72  THE  FELMERES. 

Helen  Felmere — poor  creature ! "  and  she  smiled  a  mel- 
ancholy little  smile  over  the  thought. 

Felix  looked  shocked. 

"  Can  you  laugh  at  it  ? "  he  asked  almost  reprovingly. 

"  Which  do  you  mean? "  she  asked — "  the  other  Helen 
Felmere,  or  death  ?  Indeed,  I  need  not  ask  which,  for  I 
smile  at  both ;  and  neither  of  them  is  anything  to  me. 
Death  is  nothing :  one  pang  of  dissolution,  and  I  know 
no  more.  As  has  been  said,  '  Life  is  like  the  flame  of  a 
candle :  what  becomes  of  the  flame  when  blown  out  ? 
where  was  the  flame  before  it  was  lighted?'  Neither 
the  one  nor  the  other  concerns  me ;  I  have  only  to  do 
with  the  light ;  and  why  not  smile  ? " 

Felix  put  his  face  down  in  his  hands.  How  terrible 
this  was!  How  could  he  answer  this  blank  fatalism? 
where  would  the  argument  begin  that  would  confute  it  ? 
He  raised  his  head. 

"How  did  you  become  such  an  utter  unbeliever?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  was  educated  to  it.     My  father  is  the  same." 

"  And  your  mother  ?  "  thinking  of  his  own  mother, 
who  had  been  all  in  all  to  him,  and  who  had  trained  him 
so  faithfully,  so  earnestly,  that  the  unconscious  careless- 
ness of  the  girl  bewildered  him. 

"I  never  knew  my  mother,"  she  answered  bitter- 
ly ;  "  and  at  the  best  she  must  have  been  weak,  very 
weak." 

All  the  blankness  of  her  life  seemed  due  to  her  moth- 
er, and  she  judged  her  without  mercy.  Felix  looked  at 
her  sadly. 

"  And  you  think  you  are  strong  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  rather  hopelessly. 


THE  FELMERES.  .         73 

"  No,  I  am  only  trying  to  be ;  I  am  young  yet.  But 
do  not  let  us  talk  of  this  any  longer ;  tell  me  of  your 
journey,  and  show  me  your  pictures." 

Felix  did  not  answer ;  he  could  not  all  at  once  get 
over  the  effects  of  his  discovery.  He  had  never  until 
now  really  conceived  what  doubt  was ;  for  he  had  un- 
questioningly  accepted  his  faith  at  the  hands  of  his 
mother,  never  dreaming  that  such  wholesale  infidelity 
existed  outside  of  certain  books  and  a  few  misguided 
people  who  lived  in  foreign  countries.  But  to  meet  it 
in  every-day  life — and,  worse  than  all,  in  a  young  woman 
— was  shocking.  His  life  had  been  spent  in  the  study 
of  his  art,  and  of  Nature  in  her  loveliest  forms,  through 
whose  beauties  and  perfections  he  had  learned  to  love 
God  the  better.  A  joyous  young  life,  full  of  faith  and 
happiness  ;  and  to  meet  another  life  seemingly  as  fair 
and  young  as  his,  and  to  find  that  it  was  only  a  seem- 
ing— a  bright  web  spread  over  a  hopeless  nothingness — 
was  fearful  \ 

And  so  he  sat  silent,  gazing  out  across  the  wide  marsh. 

"  Have  I  shocked  you  so  much  that  you  can  not  talk  ? " 
his  companion  asked  at  last. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  slowly ;  then,  feeling  that  this 
was  almost  rude,  he  turned  to  his  knapsack,  saying,  "  I 
have  not  accomplished  much  in  my  journey,  only  these 
few  sketches  "  ;  and  he  spread  them  out  before  her. 

But  Helen  scarcely  heeded  his  last  honest  "  Yes,"  or 
the  eifort  it  was  to  him  to  come  back  to  every-day  topics ; 
for  she  looked  on  all  that  had  passed  as  fair  expression  of 
opinion,  such  as  she  was  accustomed  to  daily,  and  turned 
to  the  criticising  of  the  sketches  without  an  effort.  Pres- 
ently she  said : 
4 


74  THE   FELMERES. 

*'  I  have  finished  the  work  you  left  for  me  to  do,  and 
have  put  my  best  efforts  on  it.  Now,  if  it  is  bad,  it  is 
my  misfortune,  and  not  my  fault." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  good,"  he  said,  and  the  happy  look 
came  partially  back  to  his  face;  "and  I  am  glad  you 
have  done  your  best,  so  that  I  can  see  what  your  best  is." 

"  And  my  best  by  my  own  acknowledgment,"  she 
added. 

"  Yes,  you  have  condemned  yourself." 

Then  Helen  rose  and  led  the  way  into  the  house. 

The  sun  had  gone,  and  all  the  red  after-glow  had 
faded  from  the  marsh  ;  the  evening  was  darkening  fast, 
and  the  air  felt  cool  and  damp. 

"  "We  have  stayed  out  too  long,"  Felix  said,  shivering 
slightly. 

"  No ;  it  is  only  because  we  are  in  the  churchyard. 
It  always  seems  damp  and  cold  the  moment  the  sun  leaves 
it ;  I  have  often  noticed — or  imagined  it." 

"  And  that  amounts  to  the  same  thing  ? "  holding  the 
door  open  for  her  to  pass  in. 

"  Not  always,"  shaking  her  head.  "  And  now  shall  I 
bring  the  picture  ?  " 

"  If  you  will ;  and  I  shall  wait  here,  for  here  the 
light  is  best." 

It  was  not  very  long  before  she  came  back  and  handed 
him  her  work.  She  did  not  feel  nor  show  any  hesitation  ; 
for,  as  she  said,  she  had  done  her  best,  and  expected  jus- 
tice. 

He  took  it  and  scanned  it  closely  for  a  few  moments, 
making  no  comments. 

"  It  is  your  father,"  he  said  at  last,  "  yet  not  your 
father.  Where  did  you  get  the  expression  from  ? " 


THE  FELMERES.  T5 

"  I  took  it  from  a  miniature  of  my  grandfather,"  she 
answered. 

He  held  it  off  at  arm's  length.  There  was  a  sad 
strength  in  the  face,  and  a  tired  look  in  the  eyes,  that  ex- 
actly suited  his  ideal  of  King  Arthur  as,  disappointed  in 
his  life's  work,  he  stands  desolate  amid  the  "  ruin  of  his 
years." 

"  There  are  many  faults  in  the  picture,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  but  that  expression  is  worth  more  than  I  can  tell ;  in- 
deed, it  is  wonderfully  well  done,  and  if  the  picture  is  a 
success  I  shall  owe  it  to  you."  His  voice  fell  a  little  at 
the  last  words,  and  took  a  more  gentle  tone  as,  turning  to 
her,  he  went  on : 

"  You  have  far  surpassed  my  expectations,  and  I  shall 
spare  nothing  in  working  it  up;  indeed,  it  will  be  as 
much  your  picture  as  mine." 

And  Helen,  leaning  against  the  door,  listened  happily 
to  his  praise,  finding  it  very  pleasant.  Perhaps  some  day 
she  could  paint  pictures  that  would  be  praised  by  all  the 
world ;  ah,  how  she  would  enjoy  that !  Then  she  spoke 
slowly,  looking  gravely  up  into  his  face : 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  ever  paint  a  picture  that  would 
be  admitted  into  a  gallery  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  work ;  and  I  shall  take  great  plea- 
sure in  giving  you  all  the  help  I  can." 

"  If  you  will,  I  promise  to  be  very  obedient,  and  work 
very  hard."  Then  in  a  lower  tone :  "  And  you  do  not 
know  how  much  you  will  be  doing  for  my  happiness  in 
putting  an  ambition  into  my  life.  "Will  you  surely  help 
me?" 

The  face  lifted  to  his  was  so  pathetic  and  humble  in 
its  pleading,  and  withal  so  beautiful,  that  Felix  would 


76  THE  FELMERES. 

have  said  yes  if  she  had  been  entirely  devoid  of  talent ; 
as  it  was,  she  had  a  great  deal. 

"  I  surely  will,  and  look  on  it  as  a  pleasure." 

"  And  must  we  not  have  a  room  to  work  in  ? "  she 
said  almost  joyously,  her  young  life  springing  up  happily 
to  meet  this  first  little  touch  of  pleasure ;  "  and  will  you 
help  me  write  to-night  for  fresh  materials  ? " 

"Of  course,  and  arrange  your  studio  for  you  with 
pleasure." 

"  Then  will  you  not  work  at  '  our  picture,'  as  you  are 
pleased  to  call  it,  while  you  are  here  ?  It  will  give  me 
so  much  happiness  to  see  you  do  it ;  and  father,  too,  will 
be  interested.  Please,  will  you  not  ? " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause;  then  he  answered, 
"  Yes,  if  you  wish." 

Jle  would  at  that  moment  have  done  anything  for  this 
fair  heathen,  so  beautiful  did  she  look  in  her  animation  ; 
and  he  wondered  if  she  knew  how  beautiful  she  was. 

And  she,  standing  in  the  doorway,  did  not  see  the 
graveyard  spread  before  her,  but  a  long  vista  of  grand 
possibilities — an  ambition  that  would  fill  her  empty  life ! 

That  night  the  important  letter  was  written,  and  the 
miniature  from  which  she  had  caught  the  expression  for 
the  "  King  Arthur  "  was  brought  down. 

"  "Was  his  life  very  sad  ? " 

"  I  know  very  little  of  his  life,  save  that  in  his  early 
youth  he  was  a  Christian,  and  that  afterward  he  gave  up 
Christianity." 

Their  eyes  met — his  questioning,  hers  observing. 

"No  wonder,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Christianity  must  be  a  terrible  thing  to  lose  if  you 
have  once  depended  on  it,"  she  answered. 


THE   FELMERES.  77 

"  You  acknowledge  that  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  for,  having  learned  to  depend  on  it,  one  would 
be  lost  without  it.  But  not  having  been  trained  to  it,  I 
can  not  bring  myself  to  believe  in  it.  It  would  be  very 
comfortable  if  I  could." 

"  Suppose  you  try,"  he  said  quietly. 

She  shook  her  head,  half  smiling  at  the  strange  re- 
quest, then  answered  sadly : 

"  No,  I  would  rather  be  as  I  am  since  it  is  my  father's 
wish ;  nor  can  I  change  the  whole  habit  of  my  life.  But 
can  not  we  be  friends  although  we  differ  ? " 

"  Indeed,  yes ! "  he  answered  quickly  ;  then,  lowering 
his  tone,  "I  will  always  be  your  friend,  and  will  never 
cease  to  plead  for  the  peace  and  safety  of  your  soul ! " 

He  was  so  very  good  and  kind,  she  thought — ray, 
and  noble — who  could  doubt  it,  looking  in  his  clear  gray 
eyes  ?  And  she  answered : 

"  You  yourself  will  give  me  peace  if  you  teach  me 
how  to  use  my  one  talent,  so  giving  me  an  ambition,  an 
aim.  May  your  God  bless  you  for  giving  me  this  happy 
work." 

This  was  surely  the  most  pitiful  life  he  had  ever  heard 
of,  Felix  thought — capable  of  being  so  rich,  and  yet  so 
poverty-stricken !  He  picked  up  a  sketch  of  Helen's,  and, 
while  he  put  a  few  idle  strokes  in  it,  said  in  order  to  hide 
his  deeper  feelings : 

"  Painting  to  me  is  not  a  work,  it  is  a  pleasure ;  and 
when  a  thing  becomes  a  pleasure,  it  ceases  to  be  a  work  ; 
is  it  not  so  ? " 

"  There  is  energy  spent  in  it,"  she  answered,  smiling ; 
"  therefore  it  is  work,  though  it  may  not  be  labor." 

"  Yery  true.     You  will  teach  me  meanwhile  to  weigh 


78  THE  FELMERES. 

my  words,  and  in  this  age  of  superlatives  it  will  be  a  good 
lesson  to  learn.  It  is  a  fearful  age ! " 

"  Fearful  ? "  half  laughing. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  may  say  '  fearful ' ;  for  things  seem 
rushing  ahead  at  dangerous  speed.  I  have  too  much 
love  and  veneration  for  old  things  to  admire  my  age  and 
generation." 

"  I  admire  it,"  she  said.  "  To  me  it  is  an  age  of 
progress — of  liberal  thought  and  fearless  investigation ; 
an  age  wherein  old  creeds  will  die,  and  the  world  be 
liberated  from  all  the  old  trammels  of  ignorance  and 
superstition." 

"  God  help  us  then  ! "  he  said  quickly ;  "  for  it  will 
be  an  age  of  fearful  sin." 

"  Of  course  there  will  be  confusion  ;  then  order  will 
come  again — scientific,  philosophic  order.  But  do  not 
fear ;  we  shall  not  live  to  see  it." 

"  Maybe  not,  but  think  of  those  we  leave  behind  us." 

"  Let  the  future  alone,"  she  said.  "  Our  own  trials 
and  sorrows  will  be  enough  for  us ;  we  will  bear  them 
and  die,  and  those  who  come  after  must  also  learn  to 
bear  and  die." 

"  That  is  very  selfish,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  How  ? "  looking  up  in  surprise. 

"  You  think  only  of  yourself." 

"  If  I  do,  that  is  not  selfish ;  it  is  but  just  and  natural. 
Every  one  must  think  more  for  himself  than  for  others ; 
how  else  would  the  world  go  on  ? "  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment, then  said,  "Out  in  the  world  are  there  many 
women  who  do  not  believe  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know  of  one  besides  yourself,"  he  answered 
honestly. 


THE   FELMERES.  79 

Helen  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  then  said : 

"I  hear  of  many  men  who  are  unbelievers  in  the 
world ;  why  should  unbelief  be  considered  more  a  sin  in 
women  ? " 

"As  immortal  souls  there  is  no  difference,"  he  an- 
swered; "but  for  women  it  is  more  dreadful  in  that 
they  have  the  training  of  the  children ;  and  owing  to 
this,  the  evil  would  spread  more  rapidly,  and  soon  the 
whole  land  would  be  infected." 

Helen  looked  up. 

"  I  go  into  the  world,  then,  a  walking  pestilence — an 
incurable  plague-spot  ?" 

The  color  swept  over  Felix's  face,  and  he  looked  at 
her  almost  reproachfully. 

"  I  meant  nothing  personal,"  he  said  slowly. 

Then  there  was  silence  between  them  until  Helen, 
looking  up,  asked : 

"How  can  honest  men  allow  their  children  to  be 
bound  by  trammels  they  have  broken  for  themselves  ? " 

"  Because,  I  suppose,  they  find  that  to  believe  is  hap- 
pier than  not,  and  so  leave  their  children  in  peace." 

"  How  short-sighted !  "  she  said  ;  "  for  if  the  many 
were  unbelievers,  then  the  weak  would  not  be  frightened 
by  the  fear  of  hell  into  a  false  religion.  If  all  were 
emancipated,  and  the  superstitions  dead — " 

He  interrupted  her  quickly : 

"  Then  we  should  have  a  hell  right  here  among  us ! " 

To  his  surprise  she  answered  : 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  so  just  now,  but  it  is  the  future 
I  am  thinking  of ;  then  things  will  be  different,  and  we 
shall  be  prepared  to  rise  a  step,  and  be  moral  and  right- 
eous without  rewards  and  punishments." 


80  THE  FELMERES. 

"  How  your  argument  clings  to  reward  and  punish- 
ment! IB  that  all  that  you  find  in  our  religion?"  he 
asked. 

"  That  is  all  I  can  find  to  make  it  live,"  she  answered, 
"unless  it  be  blind  superstition,  and  a  clinging  to  old 
things.  But  this  sort  of  talk  is  so  unavailing,  let  us  go 
back  to  art." 

And  Felix,  sighing  sorrowfully,  did  as  she  suggested. 
He  was  so  utterly  unlearned  in  her  side  of  the  question, 
he  was  so  little  prepared  for  the  arguments  she  advanced, 
that  he  did  not  know  how  they  were  to  be  met ;  and  he 
took  himself  bitterly  to  task  that  he  could  not  fight  a 
better  battle  for  his  cause. 


CHAPTEK  X. 

"  I  said,  '  I  toil  beneath  the  curse ; 
But  knowing  not  the  universe, 
I  fear  to  slide  from  bad  to  worse ; 
And  that  in  seeking  to  undo 
One  riddle,  and  to  find  the  true, 
I  knit  a  hundred  others  new.' " 

THE  arranging  of  the  studio  was  a  great  pleasure  to 
Helen — certainly  the  greatest  she  had  ever  enjoyed.  A 
room  with  a  good  northern  light  was  selected  as  the 
favored  apartment,  and  was  quickly  divested  of  all  un- 
necessary and  unpictnresque  furniture.  It  was  a  great 
regret  to  Helen  that  all  her  new  apparatus  had  not  come 
already ;  but  Felix  contrived  to  make  the  room  have  a 
very  littered  and  artistic  appearance  by  spreading  out 


THE  FELMEEES.  81 

as  far  as  they  would  go  their  joint  sketches  and  his 
materials. 

"  Make  it  look  like  a  real  studio,"  she  pleaded ;  and 
Felix,  standing  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  at 
the  part  of  the  work  already  done,  answered : 

"•  If  you  will  let  me  put  everything  crooked,  fill  all 
the  corners  with  trash,  hang  all  the  windows  with  cob- 
webs, and  suspend  dirty  paint-rags  from  every  available 
nail,  you  will  then  begin  to  approach  a  real  studio  ;  but 
I  must  confess  that  I  prefer  clear  decks." 

Helen  laughed. 

"  I  think  I  agree  with  you.  If  the  room  chances  to 
grow  artistically  littered,  I  will  not  change  it ;  but  I  pre- 
fer things  clean  and  straight.  But  will  it  not  be  delight- 
ful when  all  the  things  come  ?  I  shall  so  enjoy  unpack- 
ing and  arranging  them.  Indeed,"  she  went  on  more 
thoughtfully,  "  I  have  never  been  so  happy  in  all  my  life 
before." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  away  from  this  place  ? "  Felix 
asked,  pausing  in  his  work  of  tacking  a  sketch  on  the 
wall. 

"  I  have  never  in  all  my  life  been  away  from  it  any 
farther  than  I  could  walk  ;  and  as  a  child  I  used  to  think 
the  world  began  out  by  the  sea  and  ended  on  the  hilltop. 
I  used  to  long  to  go  away,  but  now  I  begin  to  love  the 
life  I  have  lived,  and  to  dread  leaving  it  for  the  world. 
You,  I  suppose,  are  quite  amused  that  I  should  fear  what 
you  have  always  lived  in." 

"  Indeed,"  he  answered,  "  you  are  mistaken  in  think- 
ing I  have  always  lived  in  the  world.  My  home  is  al- 
most as  secluded  as  thife ;  it  is  only  a  little  farm-house, 
and  very  poor  compared  with  your  home." 


82  THE  FELMERES. 

"  And  have  you  brothers  and  sisters  ? "  she  asked. 

She  was  holding  the  hammer  and  tacks  for  him  while 
he  arranged  the  pictures,  and  with  her  question  there 
came  a  wistful  look  on  her  upturned  face.  She  would  so 
like  to  hear  of  his  home  ;  she  felt  sure  it  was  a  cheerful 
and  happy  one. 

"  No  brother,  but  two  sisters  and  my  mother  ;  I  wish 
you  knew  her."  And  his  face  lighted  up  as  he  spoke  of 
them. 

"  Are  they  beautiful  ? "  Helen  went  on. 

Felix  smiled  a  quiet  little  smile  as  he  stepped  back  to 
look  at  his  work. 

"  Beautiful  ? "  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  I  do  not  know. 
To  me  they  are,  especially  my  mother,  who  is  the  wisest 
and  most  beautiful  person  to  me  in  the  world.  I  wish 
very  much  that  you  could  know  her." 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  Helen  answered  ;  then  went  on : 
"  And  you  are  all  Christians,  and  happy  in  your  faith  ? " 

"Yes,  thank  God!" 

Helen  turned  away  sadly  :  this  pure,  good  man  was 
glad  and  thankful  his  sisters  were  different  from  her.  She 
was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow; and  Felix,  not  knowing  the  pain  he  had  caused, 
went  on  hammering  busily. 

At  iast  Helen  turned  and  said  : 

"  I  have  never  met  a  Christian  woman  except  Jane ; 
in  fact,  she  is  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  known  at  all. 
I  should  really  like  to  see  a  Christian  home.  Will  you 
tell  me  about  yours  ? " 

What  a  pitiful  request  it  seemed  to  Felix — "  tell  me 
about  your  home"  !  How  lonely  the  life  must  have  been 
that  had  to  beg  for  even  the  reflection  of  cheerfulness ! 


THE   FELMERES.  83 

And  she  had  never  known  a  woman — had  all  her  life 
lived  alone  with  her  father  in  this  dim  old  hall  standing 
so  desolate  between  a  churchyard  and  a  marsh  !  Of 
course  he  would  tell  her.  Ah,  if  he  could  only  take  her 
there  and  let  her  have  a  little  taste  of  gentle,  womanly 
sympathy  !  He  did  not  tell  her  this,  but  said  instead  : 

"  Yes,  I  will  gladly  tell  you  of  it,  all  there  is  to  tell. 
My  home  is  only  a  little  red  farm-house,  built  on  the 
southern  side  of  a  steep  hill,  fitted  into  a  crevice  as  it 
were,  and  nestling  away  from  the  wind  and  snow.  The 
fields  all  lie  below  it  in  the  valley,  and  steep  paths  lead 
up  and  down.  There  are  an  orchard,  a  great  red  barn, 
and  a  barnyard  that  was  the  delight  of  my  boyhood's  soul. 
In  the  world  my  sisters  would  be  called  '  old  maids,'  but 
they  call  themselves  the  '  ladies  Singleheart,'  from  some 
quaint  book  they  have  read."  He  paused,  with  a  smile 
of  pleasant  memories  about  his  lips. 

"  How  happy  you  must  be  !  "  Helen  said  musingly. 

"  We  are.  One  of  my  sisters  is  an  artist,  the  other  a 
musician  ;  and  they  are  the  happiest,  busiest  people  I 
know.  And  my  mother — ah,  you  should  know  her — she 
is  so  wise,  and  holy,  and  beautiful !  Each  winter  I  look 
forward  to  the  next,  and  in  the  next  am  never  disap- 
pointed. I  wish  you  could  see  my  home." 

The  work  of  tacking  up  sketches  was  finished  now, 
and  they  stood  idle,  looking  out  of  the  window — Helen 
thinking  of  all  she  had  heard,  Felix  thinking  of  her. 

At  last  Helen  spoke : 

"  And  if  I  should  go  there,"  she  said,  "  I  should  be 
to  your  mother  and  sisters,  as  I  suppose  I  must  be  to  you, 
a  lost  soul  doomed  to  eternal  torments." 

Felix  started ! 


84  THE  FELMERES. 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  ?  "  he  said  quickly. 

"It  is  the  truth,"  she  answered  quietly.  "How 
could  you  have  any  hope  for  my  soul  \  " 

"  As  long  as  you  live,  there  is  hope,"  he  said  ;  "and 
Christ  is  patient  to  save." 

"  Ay,  your  Christ  is  very  beautiful,  if  I  could  believe 
in  Him  as  you  do." 

"  And  you  will  ?  "  he  pleaded. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  can  not ;  there  are  too  many  mysteries — too  many 
superstitions — too  many  dogmas — too  many  churches.  I 
can  not  take  all  this  for  truth  ;  my  reason  revolts.  More 
than  this,  if  I  could  believe,  where  should  I  go  for  or- 
thodox views?  To  the  Anglicans  the  Church  of  Rome 
is  '  Antichrist,'  and  the  sects  a  mere  fungus-growth  of 
societies.  To  the  Greek  Church,  all  the  rest  are  at  the 
least  schismatics.  To  the  Romanists,  all  the  outside 
world  are  heretics.  So  where  should  I  go  ?  " 

"  Go  to  the  Christ ! "  Felix  answered  solemnly.  "  He 
is  the  one  great  Truth  that  underlies  all  the  loads  of  non- 
essentials  that  the  churches  have  piled  upon  it — the  one 
glorious  Love  that  blots  out  all  our  sins  and  all  our  mis- 
takes. Believe  in  and  follow  Him  ;  this  is  all  you  have 
to  do ! " 

Helen  looked  at  him  as  though  suq^rised,  then  asked 
slowly : 

"  How  can  I  ?  How  can  you  believe  in  such  perfect 
love,  and  at  the  same  time  in  eternal  punishment  ?  And 
what  is  the  use  of  creating  man  at  all,  unless  for  happi- 
ness ?  Your  God  is  omnipotent ;  if  he  made  things  at 
all,  he  could  have  made  them  differently.  "We  are  of  no 
use  to  him  ;  he  could  have  been  glorified  in  much  higher 


THE   FELMERES.  85 

ways.  And  more  than  this,  what  need  had  he  for  glory  ? 
Was  not  all  his  ?  Can  you  call  it  mercy  to  create  beings 
'  who  are  born  to  trouble  as  surely  as  the  sparks  fly  up- 
ward' ?  What  use  in  such  an  elaborate  scheme  of  salva- 
tion, when  he  could  save  with  a  word  ?  Why  all  this 
need  of  trouble,  and  sorrow,  and  death  ?  Tell  me." 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  ? "  Felix  answered.  "  If  we 
could  know  and  explain  all  things,  '  then  were  we  as  gods.' 
But  do  you  know  of  any  better  belief  ?  " 

"  Mine  is  much  more  simple,"  she  said.  "  We  are 
all  evolutions  of  force  ;  at  death  this  force  is  redistributed. 
Order  and  right  are  one — disorder  and  wrong  are  one. 
Whatever  can  be  logically  proved  is  truth ;  all  else  is 
theory,  hypothesis.  I  expect  no  hereafter ;  I  dread  no 
hereafter.  Whatever  of  good  comes  to  me  in  this 
world,  I  will  enjoy ;  whatever  of  evil,  I  will  bear.  This 
is  my  creed,  and  it  seems  to  me  simple  enough,  and  easy 
to  be  understood." 

She  spoke  slowly  and  deliberately,  and  each  word 
sunk  into  Felix's  heart  like  lead — cold,  heavy,  and  hope- 
less. 

"  And  this  suffices  you  ? "  he  said. 

"  Why  not  ? "  she  answered,  brushing  back  the  hair 
that  the  wind  had  blown  across  her  eyes,  and  turning  to 
look  up  at  him  from  where  she  leaned  with  her  arms 
crossed  on  the  window-sill.  "  It  answers  all  my  questions 
much  more  satisfactorily  and  easily  than  your  belief 
does  ;  for  it  is  only  necessary  for  a  person  to  accept  one 
sentence  of  your  creed,  and  he  is  involved  in  endless  con- 
tradictions and  hair-splitting  doctrines.  No;  you  keep 
yours,  if  it  pleases  you,  and  let  men  hold  it  as  a  power 
over  the  masses  until  the  time  is  ripe  for  the  throwing 


86  THE  FELMERES. 

off  this  yoke  of  religion  and  church.  As  I  have  read, 
'  Force  and  Right  are  the  governors  of  this  world — Force 
until  Eight  be  ready/  To  me  Eeligion  is  Force,  Science 
is  Eight.  You  shake  your  head  ?  Even  so,  if  you  are 
happier."  And  she  turned  again  to  her  former  position. 

Felix,  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  window,  listened 
and  looked  down  on  her  sadly.  She  was  so  beautiful  as 
she  leaned  out  into  the  clear  morning  light,  the  sea  wind 
blowing  the  loose  waves  of  golden  hair  across  her  face 
so  that  it  sometimes  quite  covered  the  violet  eyes,  and 
then  only  touched  an  exquisitely  tinted  cheek — beautiful 
as  her  namesake,  for  whom  "many  drew  swords  and 
died " ;  and  Felix,  like  the  poet,  could  have  said,  "  My- 
self for  such  a  face  had  boldly  died." 

"  Whenever  I  listen  to  the  sea,  I  always  wish  I  knew 
something  of  music,"  she  said  at  last,  showing  how  far 
her  thoughts  had  wandered  from  the  former  topic  of  con- 
versation. 

Felix  roused  himself  from  his  reverie  to  answer : 

"  Do  you  know  nothing  of  music  ? " 

"  Xothing  in  the  world  except  what  I  hear  sometimes 
from  the  church  over  there ;  and  though  that  seems  very 
beautiful  to  me,  I  can  imagine  music  that  would  far  sur- 
pass it.  Do  yon  know  anything  of  it  ?  " 

"  Somewhat :  my  sister  teaches  me  a  little  every  win- 
ter when  I  am  at  home ;  she  is  organist  in  the  little  church 
we  attend,  and  sometimes  when  the  weather  is  too  severe 
I  go  in  her  place.  But  I  can  only  play  very  simple  things. 
Can  we  get  into  the  church  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  answered ;  "I  think  it  is  kept 
locked." 

"Would  they  not  lend  you  the  key?"  he  suggested. 


THE   FELMERES.  87 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  The  priest  and  people  about  here 
look  upon  me  and  my  father  as  very  wicked.  Poor,  igno- 
rant souls !  they  do  not  know  any  better.  I  would  not 
ask  for  the  key."  Her  tone  was  more  hard  and  bitter 
than  Felix  had  ever  heard  it. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  to  church  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Kever  but  once."  And  then  she  told  him  the  story 
of  the  insults  offered  her  in  her  childhood.  He  listened 
interestedly,  with  all  his  sympathies  excited  for  the  lonely 
little  child ;  and  when  she  finished  her  recital,  he  found 
himself  really  indignant. 

" How  pitiful !"  he  said,  "and  how  hard  to  treat  a 
little  child  in  such  a  way — poor  little  soul !  But  were 
you  never  lonely  as  a  child  ? " 

"I  was  sometimes,"  she  answered  sadly;  "but,  child- 
like, I  made  friends  of  all  living  things  and  many  dead 
ones.  I  also  made  many  wonders  for  myself,  that  kept 
me  very  busy  and  served  to  entertain  many  spare  moments. 
Besides  this,  I  had  my  father,  and  he  was  everything  to 
me — playmate,  friend,  mother,  nurse  ;  in  short,  he  is  my 
world  !  Is  it  any  wonder  that  I  adore  him  ? "  And  her 
whole  face  lighted  up  and  softened  with  the  love  of  which 
she  spoke. 

After  that  she  often  talked  of  her  childhood,  of  her 
brother,  and  of  her  mother's  flight."  But  she  never  spoke 
of  Philip ;  indeed,  she  seldom  thought  of  him  now  except 
to  write  her  weekly  letter,  and  she  found  that  very  irk- 
some. 

One  day,  after  a  long  discussion  about  the  Romish 
Church,  Helen  finished  her  criticism  by  saying  her  mother 
had  been  a  Romanist.  They  were  at  work  in  the  studio 
unpacking  the  new  materials  that  had  arrived,  and  their 


88  THE   FELMERES. 

argument  had  seriously  hindered  their  work ;  but  it  ended 
just  as  Helen  got  through  with  her  story. 

Felix  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  It  was  a  cruel  influence 
to  use,"  he  said,  "  and  your  mother  must  have  suffered 
'bitterly." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  much  she  suffered,"  Helen  an- 
swered. "  I  only  know  she  brought  it  on  herself  by  run- 
ning away  from  her  duty ;  and  in  thinking  of  her,  I  only 
remember  how  cruel  she  was  to  my  father."  Her  opinion 
was  given  slowly,  and  with  the  hard,  un sympathizing  jus- 
tice of  youth. 

"  You  are  too  hard  on  her,"  Felix  answered.  "  Think 
how  desperate  she  must  have  been  to  be  able  to  bear  the 
parting  from  you,  and  you  so  ill." 

"  Then  why  did  she  do  it  ? " 

"  She  thought  it  was  right." 

"  Then  the  assurance  of  having  done  the  right  should 
have  comforted  her ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  priest 
up  there  on  the  hill  promised  her  endless  rewards.  The 
truth  of  it  was,  she  wished  my  father  to  consent  that  my 
brother  should  be  trained  to  the  church,  and  he  would 
not.  But  with  even  this  for  a  foundation,  I  do  not  see 
how  she  could  have  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded  into 
thinking  her  action  right ;  for  she  had  sworn  at  her  altar 
and  to  her  God  to  live  with  and  love  my  father  through 
all,  and  she  did  not  do  it ;  and  such  an  oath  should  cer- 
tainly be  binding  on  a  Christian."  The  girl's  voice  was 
so  unpitying  and  cold  that  Felix  was  more  pained  by  it 
than  he  could  tell. 

"And  such  an  oath  **  binding,"  Felix  answered; 
"  but  the  Romish  Church  claims  the  authority  to  annul 
any  oath,  or  loose  any  tie,  however  sacred." 


THE   FELMERES.  89 

"Her  claiming  it  does  not  give  it  to  her,"  Helen 
answered.  "  And  the  promise  was  made  to  God,  and 
only,  as  it  were,  witnessed  by  the  Church.  No ;  I  tell 
you  my  mother's  action  showed  great  weakness." 

"  Are  not  the  best  among  us  liable  to  weaknesses  and 
mistakes  ? "  Felix  went  on.  "  Does  our  being  Christians 
make  us  more  than  human  ? " 

Helen  answered  quickly  :  "  If  you  honestly  believe, 
according  to  the  promises,  you  ought  to  be  endowed 
with  more  than  human  strength  when  the  day  of  trial 
comes." 

"And  I  have  no  doubt  that  your  mother  believed 
herself  endowed  with  that  very  strength  ;  but  she  thought 
it  was  given  her  to  fly  and  leave  you.  Do  you  not  think 
she  loved  you  ? " 

Helen  shook  her  head. 

"  Whether  she  loved  me  or  not,  I  do  not  know ;  but 
you  are  leaving  the  point.  Does  it  make  a  thing  right 
for  one  to  think  it  so?  Is  there  no  absolute  right  or 
wrong  in  your  creed,  that  my  mother  could  so  grievously 
err,  all  the  time  thinking  herself  right  ? " 

"We  can  only  act  up  to  the  light  we  have;  and 
though  your  mother  was  not  right,  and  her  thinking  her- 
self right  did  not  make  her  so,  yet  she  did  think  so,  and 
acted  on  her  conclusions  ;  and,  however  weak  and  wrong, 
she  will,  I  believe,  have  much  mercy  at  God's  hands. 
Have  you  no  pity  for  her  ? "  he  pleaded. 

"  No,"  she  answered  quietly. 

Felix  went  on  : 

"  Granted  that  she  was  weak,  is  there  any  greater 
suffering  than  weakness,  anything  to  be  more  pitied?" 

"Or  despised,"  she  added. 


90  THE   FELMERES. 

"  Do  not  say  that ! "  Felix  cried,  horror-stricken ;  for 
to  despise  a  mother,  however  sinful,  was  too  dreadful ! 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  she  answered,  looking  curiously 
into  his  face. 

"  It  is  not  the  truth !  All  humanity  calls  for  pity 
and  charity  for  weakness  ! " 

He  paused,  and  she  turned  again  to  her  drawing  with 
almost  a  look  of  amusement  on  her  face.  How  absurd  to 
make  such  an  assertion,  when  it  was  a  well-known  fact 
that  in  many  tribes  and  nations  the  weak,  either  mentally 
or  physically,  were  so  despised  as  to  be  put  to  death  that 
they  might  be  out  of  the  way !  It  was  not  worth  an 
argument.  To  her,  humanity  was  a  mass  of  lives  higher 
than  the  brutes,  but  of  no  account  unless  they  were  able 
to  benefit  their  kind.  To  him,  humanity  was  the  multi- 
tude of  throbbing,  suffering  souls,  raised,  purified,  and 
made  holy  by  the  love  of  Christ ! 

Presently  Felix  went  on : 

"  Put  yourself  in  your  mother's  place :  what  would 
not  you  have  done  to  save  your  child !  Think  of  what 
eternal  punishment  was  to  her,  and  of  her  brooding  over 
that  one  thought  for  years — think  of  her  terrible  sorrow 
in  having  to  leave  you,  and  can  you  not  pity  her  ? "  He 
stopped  his  work  and  came  to  her  side  as  he  went  on. 
"  And  if  you  should  meet  her  some  day — meet  her,  old 
and  worn  with  poverty  and  trials — you  would  be  sorry 
for  these  hard  words." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  brimming  with  tears. 

"  You  pity  her,  for  you  judge  her  by  your  strong, 
good,  loving  mother  ;  and  you  blame  me !  Do  it ;  but 
in  doing  it,  think  whose  fault  it  is  that  I  am  as  I  am. 
Think  how  different  all  might  have  been — my  home,  my 


THE   VELMERES.  91 

life,  myself!  I  tell  you  I  can  not,  I  will  not  forgive 
her ! "  She  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  in  a 
lowered,  hardened  voice  went  on  :  "  No,  nor  pity  her ; 
for  if  she  is  right,  she  left  me  to  eternal  damnation  !  " 

Her  face  was  white,  and  her  blazing  eyes  looked 
steadily  into  his.  What  could  he  say?  Ah,  if  his 
mother  were  only  here  to  help  him,  and  to  comfort  and 
set  right  this  sad  young  creature,  whose  life  had  been  so 
strange  and  lonely — so  deliberately  misguided ! 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"  If  you  think  this,"  lie  said,  "  is  it  well  to  dare  a  risk 
so  terrible  ? " 

"  My  father  dares  it,"  she  answered  doggedly ;  "  he 
is  my  all,  and  I  will  follow  him  without  the  shadow  of  a 
turning !  If  there  is  a  hereafter,  mine  shall  be  the  same 
as  his."  She  stopped  abruptly,  turning  away  to  her 
easel;  and  Felix,  watching  her  silently,  felt  a  horror 
creeping  over  him  as  he  thought  of  her  future !  Could 
God  let  so  fair  a  soul  as  this  be  lost  through  the  fault  of 
another  ?  would  that  be  just  ?  God  was  strong  to  save, 
and  she,  poor  child,  had  never  seen  the  light !  If  a  just 
God  reigned  supreme,  how  could  such  a  dreadful  sacrifice 
be  permitted  ?  He  shivered !  He  was  doubting ;  he 
•was  faltering  where  he  had  stood  firm  ;  he  was  almost 
judging  God !  He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
tried  to  think.  What  was  this  that  had  come  to  him — 
this  wild  love  for  this  lost  soul — this  love  that  shook  his 
whole  being,  his  faith,  his  trust  ?  God  help  him  ! 


92  THE  FELMERES. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

"  What  then  were  God  to  such  as  I? 

Tvvere  hardly  worth  my  while  to  choose 
Of  all  things  mortal,  or  to  use 
A  little  patience  ere  I  die." 

THE  blackest  days  of  all  one's  life  are  the  first  days 
of  doubt,  when  all  things  seem  to  fall  away,  and  you  are 
left  to  battle  single-handed  with  spirits  of  darkness — days 
when  all  the  faith  and  trust  of  your  life  seem  based  on 
shifting  clouds,  that  change  their  shape  and  color  for 
every  breath  of  argument  that  touches  them.  Where  is 
right?  "What  is  truth?  Is  there  any  right  or  truth? 
Who  can  tell  whether  or  not  they  are  figments  of  the 
imagination ! 

So  the  bright  summer  days  were  shadowed  for  Felix, 
shadowed  with  vague  doubts — the  first  questionings  of 
his  faith,  the  first  faltering  of  his  trust.  He  went  about 
his  daily  tasks  of  sketching,  teaching  Helen,  and  dili- 
gently working  at  his  picture  of  "  King  Arthur " ;  but 
all  the  while  the  words  rang  in  his  ears  and  heart,  "  For 
all  my  mind  is  clouded  with  a  doubt" — a  doubt  that 
slowly  grew  into  the  face  of  the  "  great  king." 

Yet  Helen  did  not  know. 

One  afternoon  Felix  came  to  her,  saying,  "I  have 
the  key  of  the  church ;  will  you  come  over  and  let  me 
play  for  you  ? " 

She  paused  a  moment.    She  wanted  to  hear  the  music, 


THE  FELMERES.  93 

but  did  not  like  to  go  into  the  church,  for  it  seemed  to 
her  like  enjoying  a  pleasure  at  the  hands  of  an  enemy. 

"  If  father  will  let  me,"  she  compromised,  and  went 
to  ask  him. 

"  Mr.  Gordon  has  the  key  of  the  church,  father,  and 
is  going  to  play  the  organ ;  may  I  go  with  him  ?  " 

"  Surely,  my  daughter,"  he  answered,  smiling  at  her 
eagerness.  "  I  have  no  objection,  only  do  not  stay  too 
long." 

So  she  kissed  him  for  good-by,  and  went  her  way- 
she  and  Felix,  with  the  sexton's  little  son  to  blow  the 
organ  bellows. 

Helen,  all  eagerness  to  see  the  inside  of  the  church, 
and  to  revive  her  childish  visions,  did  not  heed  the  child 
until,  while  Felix  was  unlocking  the  door,  he  spoke,  pull- 
ing at  her  dress  to  attract  notice. 

"  Lady,  are  yer  so  bad?" 

Helen  turned  in  astonishment. 

"I?    Am  I  so  bad?" 

Felix  caught  the  words  and  stopped  to  listen,  almost 
glaring  at  the  boy. 

The  child  quailed.  "  I  didn't  mean  nothin',"  he 
stammered  out. 

Helen,  having  by  this  time  recovered  from  her  aston- 
ishment, became  curious  as  to  what  the  child  meant,  and 
said  reassuringly : 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,  child  ;  tell  me  who  said  I  was 
bad." 

He  hesitated  a  minute;  then,  putting  her  between 
Felix  and  himself,  said  promptly  : 

"Daddy;  but  mammy  says  she  don't  much  believe 
it." 


94  THE   FELMERES. 

Felix  listened,  silent.     Helen  went  on : 

"  What  does  daddy  say  about  me  ? " 

"  He  says  you  don't  believe  there  is  nothin'." 

Helen  laughed. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  No  ;  he  says  yer  soul  will  burn  in  hell  fur  it — he 
do." 

Her  face  flushed  slightly,  and  'Felix  said  sharply : 

"  Tell  your  father  to  be  careful  that  his  own  soul  does 
not  burn  for  speaking  evil  against  his  neighbors." 

Helen  looked  up  surprised. 

"  Do  not  speak  so  harshly,"  she  said  slowly ;  "  the 
child  means  no  harm." 

"  No,  marm,  I  don't ;  but  that's  what  daddy  says — 
he  do." 

"Well,  hush ! "  Felix  cried. 

Helen  watched  him  curiously.  What  did  it  mean, 
this  sudden  anger  ?  It  was  not  his  soul  that  was  threat- 
ened. There  was  a  frown  on  his  brow,  and  his  eyes 
looked  dark  with  anger  as  he  answered  her  look  ;  but  he 
said  nothing,  and  she  and  the  child  followed  him  silently 
into  the  church. 

The  organ  was  near  the  chancel,  and  the  child  went 
with  Felix,  while  Helen  stopped  half-way.  There  were 
no  white-robed  priests  nor  boys  moving  about,  but  the 
sunlight  shone  through  the  window  above  the  door  just 
as  she  remembered  it,  and  now  as  then  touched  all  the 
gilding  and  coloring  about  the  chancel  with  an  almost 
supernatural  hue  —  glittering  on  the  candles  clustered 
about  the  high  white  altar,  and  making  a  great  cross  that 
surmounted  the  whole  seem  a  living  light.  She  stood 
mute,  gazing  on  what  to  her  were  the  symbols  of  a  dying 


THE   FELMERES.  95 

creed,  but  a  grand  one — this  Christian  creed,  even  if  old 
and  decaying!  A  creed  that  had  comforted  many  in 
this  weary  world — had  lightened  life's  burdens,  and 
sweetened  the  bitterness  of  death !  A  creed  that  had 
been  for  generations  a  dominant  power,  and  whose  death- 
throes  would  convulse  the  world ! 

Low  and  tremulous  the  tones  of  the  organ  stole  upon 
her ;  soft  and  deep,  they  seemed  to  pervade  her  whole 
being,  thrilling  through  every  nerve.  She  leaned  against 
a  pillar  and  listened.  High  and  higher  the  music  rose — 
a  wail,  a  cry  that  pierced  her  soul ! — slowly  sinking  down 
to  one  low  sob  lingering  softly  through  the  senses ! 

A  voice  rose  with  it — a  rich  mellow  voice,  almost  too 
piercingly  sweet  to  be  a  man's,  almost  too  full  for  a 
woman's. 

She  listened  mute,  bewildered !  She  could  not  say 
what  she  felt ;  she  did  not  know  that  she  felt  at  all !  The 
world  had  floated  away — gone  from  her  like  a  mist  before 
the  sun !  The  church  and  its  creed  vanished  from  her 
view ;  a  great  and  terrible  knowledge  rose  up  before  her, 
dark  and  dreadful !  She  surely  dreamed  ?  It  could  not 
be  true,  this  knowledge  that  had  come  home  to  her  like 
the  keen  thrust  of  a  sword — the  knowledge  that  in  all 
the  world  this  was  the  only  voice  to  her ! 

She  covered  her  face  writh  her  hands,  and  still  the 
voice  rang  on,  with  the  words  "  No  light !  so  late,  and 
dark  and  chill  the  night !  "  She  wrung  her  hands !  All 
her  life  had  been  chill  darkness — and  now  ?  She  paused, 
standing  mute  under  the  glare  of  this  terrible  light  that 
seemed  to  have  touched  the  lowest  darkness  of  the  abyss 
that  yawned  before  her — an  abyss  that  must  swallow  up 
her  life !  And  she  had  no  God  to  cry  to  in  her  sorrow — 


96  THE   FELMEEES. 

no  human  soul  to  fly  to  in  her  distress ;  she  stood  alone 
in  her  misery ! 

She  turned  away  and  stole  out  into  the  churchyard, 
crouching  down  behind  a  great  vault.  She  closed  her 
eyes,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  rocking  back 
and  forth. 

"  I  love  him — I  love  him ! "  she  whispered  to  her- 
self—" I  love  him !  And  Philip ! "  She  hushed ;  the 
horror  of  it  overwhelmed  her !  Then,  as  one  in  delirious 
wanderings,  she  came  back  to  the  words,  "  I  love  him — 
I  love  him ! "  The  rocking  back  and  forth  ceased,  and  a 
flood  of  tender  little  thoughts  swept  across  her  heart; 
pure  little  thoughts  like  gentle  doves  came  fluttering 
round  his  whispered  name — "  His  name,  the  sweetest  in 
all  the  world — and  Philip !  " 

Then  the  swaying  recommenced,  back  and  forth,  back 
and  forth,  as  though  to  rock  her  heart  and  soul  to  sleep  ! 
And  on  the  air  there  floated  a  little  moaning  sound  as 
of  one  enduring  more  than  human  agony  ! 

The  evening  darkened.  Felix  would  soon  be  coming, 
and  he  must  not  know  this  grievous  wound.  She  rose 
and  crept  back  slowly  into  the  church.  Ah,  it  was  so 
cold  and  damp,  as  though  the  death-dews  from  the 
churchyard  had  collected  there,  and  were  striking  through 
her!  The  last  lingering  light  streamed  through  the 
western  window,  and  the  cross  and  the  altar  were  all 
bathed  in  a  tender  flood  of  light.  The  girl-  looked  at 
them  wistfully.  If  she  were  a  Christian,  praying  might 
bring  her  comfort.  If  she  could  only  feel  that  there  was 
one  "Supreme  Father"  who  felt  her  sorrows,  and  to 
whom  she  might  appeal  for  sympathy ! 

She  stole  up  to  the  altar  steps ;  she  stood  there,  but 


THE  FjELMERES.  97 

could  not  kneel :  what  good  could  a  prayer  do  her  ?  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Those  happy  women 
in  their  far-away  home  on  the  hillside — they  could  pray, 
and  praying  think  their  sorrows  were  sent  them,  in 
mercy ;  they  could  rise  above  this  iron  fate  that  crushed 
her !  Ah,  if  she  had  but  lived  in  such  a  home !  But 
now  where  should  she  turn — where  could  she  turn  ? 
Alas,  she  had  no  refuge ;  this  agony  must  eat  for  ever 
into  her  soul !  Would  it  help  her  to  pray  there  before 
that  cross — to  kneel  and  rend  the  air  with  inarticulate 
cries  ?  This  was  all  that  she  could  do,  for  she  did  not 
know  how  to  pray.  Should  she  cast  herself  down  like 
some  poor  stricken  animal  and  moan  out  her  pain ! 

She  looked  up ;  the  shadows  were  gathering  fast  and 
deep,  so  that  the  cross  alone  retained  the  light,  the  great 
altar  growing  shadowy  and  dim,  and  still  the  music  rolled 
on,  and  its  softness  seemed  to  soothe  her.  Perhaps  it 
would  help  her  to  put  her  sorrow  into  words,  and  make 
a  little  prayer.  Poor  and  meager  it  would  be,  but  if  this 
God  was  what  they  said  He  was,  He  would  surely  hear 
her ;  and  if  He  heard  her,  would  He  not  comfort  her  ? 
Could  He  not  send  peace  to  her  soul,  driven  and  tossed  ? 

The  light  still  lingered  on  the  cross.  She  clasped  her 
hands,  and  her  thoughts  rushed  swiftly  back  and  forth, 
bewildering  her.  How  could  she  pray,  and  leave  her 
father?  Had  she  not  sworn  to  stand  by  him,  and  would 
she  fail  him  in  the  first  hour  of  trial  ?  A  coldness  seemed 
to  gather  about  her  heart,  and  her  hands  fell  apart. 

What  good  could  it  do  her  to  kneel  before  a  gilt 
cross ! 

She  looked  up :  the  cross  was  blotted  out — the  light 
had  gone ! 
5 


98  THE   FELMEEES. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  Like  one  that  on  a  lonesome  road 

Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread, 
And  having  once  turned  round  walks  on, 

And  turns  no  more  his  head ; 
Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend 

Doth  close  behind  him  tread." 

THE  first  rush  of  sorrow  that  shows  us  the  underside 
of  life — the  first  blinding  pain  which  to  inexperienced 
youth  seems  unexampled  and  endless— how  can  it  be  en- 
dured? How  is  life  possible  with  this  dull  emptiness 
staining  all  the  world — dimming  all  the  sunshine,  and 
lending  darkness  to  the  night  ?  Will  it  not  kill  us  ?  Alas 
that  it  does  not !  that,  recovering  from  this  first  blow, 
we  live  on  and  learn  the  great  depths  to  which  suffering 
can  go — learn  to  know  that  every  pleasure  has  an  under- 
side of  pain,  and  that  every  hope  comes  lined  with  fear 
of  disappointment,  until  at  last  we  learn  to  work  out  our 
lives  with  calm  patience,  uii tinged  with  any  glow  of  ex- 
pectation save  of  that  which  cometh  after  death. 

So  in  the  vigor  of  their  youth  these  two  suffered — 
suffered  in  proportion  to  their  strength  and  freshness. 

Felix  was  almost  in  despair.  Whichever  way  he 
turned,  there  was  no  outlet  from  this  sorrow,  or  from  the 
gathering  doubts  that  were  crowding  thick  about  him. 
Were  these  doubts  well  founded  ?  He  could  not  sav. 

«/ 

He  could  not  let  go  the  faith  and  hope  of  all  his  life ;  for 
what  were  existence  without  them  ?     Could  he  go  back 


THE   FELMERES.  99 

and  tell  his  mother  that  he  was  tainted  with  unbelief — that 
he,  her  pride,  her  hope,  her  darling,  had  gone  from  her, 
leaving  her  desolate  in  her  old  age  ?  He  could  not  an- 
swer himself,  but  he  felt  and  knew  there  was  one  prac- 
tical question  which  rose  up  for  solution,  and  which  could 
not  long  be  pushed  aside :  what  should  he  do  with  the 
love  in  his  heart  for  this  fair  infidel  ? 

There  was  not  much  use  in  questioning  himself  as 
to  the  right  and  wrong,  as  to  the  happiness  or  unhappi- 
ness  consequent  on  the  one  course  or  the  other.  One 
thing  he  knew,  that  he  loved  her ;  and  every  hour  made 
him  feel  that  he  must  tell  her  so,  come  weal,  come  woe. 
This  decision  ended  neither  his  doubts  nor  his  wretched- 
ness. When  he  tried  to  tell  Helen,  and  settle  his  fate, 
the  words  seemed  to  choke  him ;  he  felt  that  he  was 
about  to  desert  those  three  loving,  lonely  women,  or  at 
least  to  sow  dissension  and  misery  in  their  happy  home ! 
Then  he  went  over  once  more  the  same  weary  round  of 
thought,  and  determined  to  conquer  himself  one  way  or 
the  other.  He  still  had  some  self-possession,  and  resolved 
to  separate  himself  from  her  for  a  little  while,  so  that  he 
could  think  more  calmly. 

Ah,  what  a  relief  this  solution  was,  and  how  gladly 
he  strapped  on  his  knapsack  and  set  off  for  a  few  days' 
ramble  !  They  said  good-by  at  the  churchyard  gate,  and 
she  watched  him  go  across  the  churchyard  and  up  the 
hill,  where  pausing  he  waved  a  last  farewell.  She  an- 
swered it,  and  turned  away  hopeless. 

It  would  soon  be  an  eternal  farewell ;  and  yet,  she 
pondered,  why  should  it  be?  She  drove  the  thought 
away,  and  went  indoors  to  her  father.  She  longed  to  tell 
him  all  her  trouble  and  ask  for  some  sympathy ;  but  she 


100  THE   FELMERES. 

could  not,  for  she  was  bound,  and  this  would  but  make 
him  unhappy.  It  could  not  now  be  helped,  and  she  must 
bear  it  alone.  So  she  kept  her  sorrow  to  herself,  and, 
taking  up  the  book  she  had  been  reading,  sat  down  on  a 
low  stool  close  beside  her  father's  chair — her  place  since 
childhood ;  and  now,  as  then,  he  did  not  speak,  but  laid 
his  hand  caressingly  upon  her  head. 

She  sat  still  a  moment,  then  drew  the  hand  down  and 
rested  her  cheek  against  it.  It  was  all  she  had  here  or 
hereafter,  this  old,  tremulous,  failing  hand.  When  that 
was  gone !  The  tears  sprang  quick  to  her  eyes,  and  she 
let  the  dear  hand  go  for  fear  they  might  drop  on  it  and 
betray  her.  So  her  tears  fell  silently,  and  the  book  was 
not  read.  And  he,  so  near  her,  was  all  unconscious  of 
the  wasting  desolation  which  was  devouring  the  young 
life  beside  him,  and  of  the  young  heart  turning  bitterly 
from  its  first  "  Dead-Sea  fruit  " — dust  and  ashes ! 

So  she  came  and  went  in  her  daily  occupations,  he 
noting  nothing  in  her  that  spoke  of  change,  more  than 
that  the  summer  weather  made  her  manner  a  little  more 
listless,  and  her  step  a  little  slower :  the  autumn  would 
set  all  straight  again. 

But  old  Jane,  with  her  keener  woman's  eye,  saw 
deeper.  She  had  watched  these  two  young  things  coming 
and  going,  working,  walking,  talking  together  through 
all  the  summer  days.  What  could  they  do  but  love  each 
other  3  "  Poor  lamb,  poor  lamb,  she  must  be  warned ! " 
So  one  day  she  went  into  the  studio  where  Helen  was  at 
work,  and  after  a  few  moments'  silent  watching  said, 
standing  humbly  back : 

"  Miss  Helen,  do  y'  not  count  it  true  that  y'  are  mar- 
ried to  Master  Philip  ? " 


THE   FELMERES.  101 

Helen  turned  quickly ;  the  red  blood  rushed  into  her 
face  and  throat. 

"  How,  Jane  ? "  she  asked. 

"  By  the  laws  of  man,  Miss  Helen — not  by  the  bless- 
ing of  God,  it  is  true — but  still  y'  are  married,  are  y' 
not  ? "  The  old  woman  came  a  step  nearer — she  so  loved 
this  motherless,  godless  girl. 

"  Yes,  Jane,  I  know  it — I  know  it ! "  Ah,  what  a 
bitter  cry  the  last  words  swelled  into ! 

"  And  yet,  Miss  Helen,"  the  old  woman  went  on  more 
gently,  "  y'  are  walkin'  open-eyed  into  a  great  sin — not 
to  you,  maybe,  but  to  both  o'  them."  Helen  turned 
away  silent.  "  This  last  one  is  little  more  nor  a  boy, 
scarcely  older  nor  you,  Miss  Helen,  an'  he  don't  know 
what  he's  doin'.  Y'  should  tell  him  about  it,  Miss 
Helen — 'deed  y'  should." 

Still  Helen  stood  silent,  and  the  old  woman  turned  to 
go.  She  had  done  her  duty  by  the  girl  and  her  master, 
and  she  had  no  more  to  say.  It  was  a  dreadful  sorrow 
for  the  poor  child,  but  better  that  than  sin — ay,  far 
better ! 

And  Helen  let  her  go,  the  kind  old  woman  who  in  so 
many  ways  had  shown  a  tender  sympathy  for  her  in  her 
loneliness.  Even  now,  though  hard  to  bear,  her  humble 
reproof  was  gentle. 

When  she  had  gone,  Helen  leaned  her  head  against 
the  side  of  the  window  near  which  she  was  standing,  and 
tried  to  think.  She  did  not  love  Philip.  She  did  not 
believe  in  the  God  by  whom  she  had  sworn,  and  why 
need  she  keep  her  oath  ?  In  time  to  come  it  would  only 
be  an  endurance  of  Philip :  why  not  tell  him  so  honestly, 
and  confess  that  she  loved  this  other  ?  This  course  would 


102  THE   FELMERES 

surely  be  more  true.  Her  father  only  wished  her  to  have 
a  protector,  and  Felix  would  do  as  well  as  Philip.  But 
would  not  the  oath  be  sacred  in  Felix's  eyes  ?  and  if  she 
broke  it,  would  he  still  care  for  her  ?  No,  he  would  not ; 
she  felt  assured  he  would  not ;  for  he  would  regard  her  as 
married  and  belonging  to  another.  If  she  should  tell  him 
of  it  and  bid  him  go,  he  would  still  respect  and  love  her ; 
else,  she  were  lowered  in  his  eyes.  Ah,  she  could  not 
bear  that !  She  wished  him  to  look  on  her  as  pure  and 
high,  although  an  unbeliever.  Then  she  must  let  him 
go !  Yet  how  could  she  stand  and  see  him  turn  away, 
knowing  she  would  never  look  on  his  face  again — know- 
ing that  through  all  the  waste  of  years  that  lay  before  her 
she  must  go  alone  ? 

Alas,  she  must  bear  it !  "What  use  in  thinking  of  it  ? 
She  could  not  tell  him  she  was  sworn  to  Philip,  and  yet 
beg  him  to  take  her  away — plead  that  the  oath  was  no- 
thing— tell  him  that  she  loved  only  him.  She  shivered ! 
She  could  feel  now  the  look  those  honest  eyes  would  turn 
on  her!  Then,  again,  even  if  he  consented,  could  she 
let  him  soil  his  fair  name  and  heart  by  helping  her  to 
break  this  vow  ?  Could  she  tempt  him  to  this  thing  that 
would  be  so  foul  a  sin  to  him  ?  And  if  he  consented, 
could  she  love  him  ?  She  did  not  answer  ;  she  was  afraid 
she  could  nevertheless  love  him. 

But  then  her  father — how  could  she  so  disappoint 
him  ?  Now,  when  he  was  resting  after  a  long  sad  life — 
resting  on  the  thought  of  her  safety — could  she  wreck 
his  hopes,  and  put  his  last  days  out  of  tune  with  her  wild 
love  and  weakness  ?  No,  a  thousand  times  no  ! 

So  she  answered,  and  went  on  with  her  work.  But 
day  after  day  she  would  go  back  and  battle  over  the  same 


THE  FELMERES.  103 

ground,  wounding  and  tearing  herself  with  her  argu- 
ments for  and  against.  Living  with  Philip  was  a  dread- 
ful thought,  and  yet  at  every  turn  it  seemed  to  force 
itself  upon  her.  To  drag  her  days  out  without  a  sign  of 
love  or  hope — she  could  not  do  it !  she  would  die  rather ! 
Self-murder  would  be  no  sin  to  her ;  and  as  she  did  no 
good  in  the  world,  and  feared  no  God  beyond,  why  not 
die !  After  her  father's  death  why  need  she  endure  the 
curse  of  life  ?  And  all  the  while  she  struggled  with  her- 
self, she  gave  her  love  vent  in  painting  Felix  as  "  Sir 
Galahad."  It  was  a  dim,  dark  picture,  save  the  face, 
and  that  was  idealized  and  glorified  by  love,  until  it 
looted  out  of  the  canvas  upon  her  as  though  from  some 

"  happy  place 
God's  glory  smote  him  on  the  face." 

Morn  and  noon  she  worked  on  it,  touching  and  retouch- 
ing it,  until  the  day  fixed  for  his  return  ;  then  she  put  it 
in  her  own  room  with  its  face  turned  to  the  wall. 

Felix  had  traveled  far,  but  had  not  accomplished 
much  in  the  way  of  sketching.  Upon  the  great  question, 
he  had  only  decided  that  if  Helen  would  marry  him,  he 
would  cast  consequences  to  the  winds.  Indeed,  he  had 
come  to  two  conclusions :  first,  that  he  only  doubted 
through  ignorance ;  and  second,  that  he  could  not  live 
without  Helen.  This  was  all  he  had  accomplished,  and 
the  worth  of  it  remained  to  be  proved. 


104:  THE  FELMERES. 


CHAPTEK   XIII. 

"Death  is  the  end  of  life;  ah,  why 

Should  life  all  labor  be  ? 
Let  us  alone.     Time  driveth  onward  fast, 

And  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb. 
Let  us  alone.     What  is  it  that  will  last  ? 

All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become 
Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past." 

DAY  after  day  passed  after  Felix  returned,  yet  not  a 
word  was  said.  They  worked  on  their  pictures,  chatted 
about  the  books  that  were  read  aloud  in  the  evenings, 
and  were  almost  happy. 

"  Let  it  last,"  Felix  thought ;  "  to  speak  might  break 
it." 

"  Let  it  last  for  ever  thus,"  Helen  thought ;  "  to  speak 
will  break  it!" 

And  so  it  went  on. 

The  summer  waned,  yet  Felix  came  and  went,  walk- 
ing in  a  dream.  He  was  almost  sure  that  Helen  lovei 
him;  but  why  say  anything — why  not  be  quite  sure 
first? 

All  this  time  Helen  worked  diligently  under  him,  and 
made  great  progress.  Soon  he  would  be  gone,  and  his 
words  and  teachings  would  be  all  she  should  have  left; 
so  she  laid  them  well  to  heart,  striving  meanwhile  not  to 
allow  herself  to  think  of  the  time  which  she  felt  sure 
was  coming — the  time  when  all  would  be  a  blank. 

The  "King  Arthur"  was  finished  at  last ;  even  Felix 


THE   FELMERES.  105 

could  find  nothing  more  to  do  to  it,  and  consented  to  take 
it  down  to  be  criticised  by  Mr.  Felmere. 

He  was  much  amused  when  he  found  himself  put  in 
as  the  King;  and  after  commending  the  picture  highly, 
he  asked  who  was  the  model  for  Guinevere. 

"  A  creature  of  straw,"  Felix  answered,  laughing — "  a 
lay  figure,  you  know.  You  see  she  is  crouching  at  his 
feet,  her  face  down,  and  the  hair  falling  so  as  to  hide  her 
almost  entirely ;  and  thus  there  was  almost  no  need  of  a 
model.  The  hair  is  Miss  Felmere's — she  let  it  down  for 
me  to  paint.  Do  you  think  the  picture  will  prove  a 
success  ? " 

"I  do ;  I  admire  it  exceedingly,"  Mr.  Felmere  an- 
swered ;  and,  Helen  echoing  all  his  praise,  Felix  felt  as 
happy  as  though  his  name  was  already  famous. 

So  they  packed  it  up,  as  merry  as  children,  and  sent 
it  off — bidding  it  many  farewells,  and  wondering  who 
would  buy  it,  and  if  they  would  ever  meet  it  again. 

"  It  would  be  like  meeting  a  dear  old  friend  and  com- 
rade," Helen  said. 

"  More  than  that,"  Felix  answered ;  "  it  would  be  a 
breath  of  sweet  air  from  this  summer,  the  happiest  of  my 
life.  It  would  be  all  our  talks  over  again — all  our  walks, 
all  our  pictures,  all  our  books."  Here  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  went  on  more  slowly :  "  Meeting  it  again 
would  be  either  a  great  pleasure  or — a  bitter  pain."  His 
voice  sunk.  Helen  turned  to  look  out  of  the  window. 

"I  hope  I  shall  never  meet  it  then,"  she  said,  "for  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  a  bitter  pain.  All  things  end  that  way 
in  life,  at  least  so  far  as  I  have  gone."  Then  she  left  the 
room,  and  Felix,  pausing  in  his  work,  pondered  over  her 
words.  She  was  sure — and  it  lay  in  her  hands  to  make 


106  THE   FELMERES. 

it  sure.  Was  she  going  to  send  him  away  ?  He  must 
ask  her — must  at  last  end  this  happy  uncertainty.  Yet 
two  days  passed,  and  it  was  not  done ;  for  somehow  he 
feared  to  break  the  silence.  At  last,  becoming  ashamed 
of  his  weakness,  and  urged  by  the  feeling  that  it  ought  to 
be  done,  he  determined  to  put  his  fate  to  the  hazard. 
They  stood  on  the  river-bank,  silent  and  thoughtful.  It 
was  altogether  a  new  process  to  him,  and,  while  thinking 
how  to  begin,  he  idly  shredded  a  bit  of  dry  sedge,  casting 
the  fragments  into  the  stream  that  eddied  by — so  broad, 
so  blue,  so  ceaseless  in  its  flowing. 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  a  flame  of  crimson  and  amber, 
and  the  evening  light  lay  long  and  low  across  the  flats. 
Above,  two  little  golden  clouds  were  poised  motionless 
against  a  pale-green  sky,  and  far  away  one  great  white 
bird  flew  up  slowly  from  the  sea.  The  bit  of  sedge  was 
all  shredded  now,  and  Felix,  seeing  the  bird,  thought, 
"  Before  that  bird  reaches  us,  I  shall  know  all."  But 
Helen,  watching,  saw  with  a  woman's  instinct  what  was . 
coming,  and  struck  in  suddenly. 

"  I  have  never  told  you  of  my  cousin  Philip,"  she 
said,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  heavy  bird  that  seemed  to 
fly  so  slowly. 

Felix  did  not  move  nor  look  up,  and  his  voice  was 
uncertain  with  a  nameless  fear  as  he  asked : 

"  "What  of  your  cousin  Philip  ?  " 

Now  that  she  had  to  speak,  Helen  felt  her  oath  close 
about  her  as  an  iron  band,  and  wondered  vaguely  how  she 
had  ever  thought  she  could  break  it !  The  bird  was  flying 
faster  now ;  the  summer  breeze  was  howling  in  her  ears, 
and  the  river  seemed  to  beat  the  patient  shore.  Then,  as 
she  spoke,  a  silence  fell  on  all. 


THE  FELMERES.  107 

"  So  far  as  the  law  can  bind  me,  I  am  his."  Her 
voice  sounded  weak  and  far  away,  and  she  wondered  it 
she  had  really  said  those  words. 

The  bird  flew  over  them ;  the  color  faded  from  the 
little  clouds ;  and  as  one  in  a  dream  she  turned  and 
walked  away. 

Felix,  stunned  and  silent,  stood  and  watched  her  as 
she  went,  with  the  red  light  the  sun  had  left  tinting  her 
white  dress  and  fair  hair.  Fading  away  from  him — slip- 
ping slowly  from  his  grasp,  but  surely — this  only  love  of 
his  life !  He  could  not  think ;  he  only  knew  he  must  go 
without  delay,  for  she  was  bound  to  another  as  fast  as 
the  law  could  bind  her !  The  law — that  was  all  ?  She 
did  not  love  him  then,  and  had  she  not  often  said  that  no 
oath  could  bind  her  unless  she  willed  it  so  ?  Great  God ! 
how  dare  he  think  of  such  a  thing  when  even  she,  an  un- 
believer, had  turned  away !  He  must  go ;  he  was  too 
weak  to  stay  another  day. 

Helen  passed  out  of  sight  into  the  house.  She  had 
never  once  looked  back— had  never  once  faltered  in  her 
going.  She  had  set  herself  a  task :  it  was  to  reach  the 
house  before  her  strength  failed  her.  If  she  could  only 
find  a  place  to  hide  herself  in  for  a  little  while,  she  thought 
she  might  somewhat  ease  herself  of  this  terrible  blindness 
and  agony.  Once  in  her  own  room,  she  stopped  and 
looked  about ;  surely  nothing  had  come  to  her,  nothing 
was  changed.  She  sat  down  and  tried  to  think,  but  she 
could  not ;  nor  could  she  in  any  way  give  up  to  her  pain 
— it  held  her  fast  and  kept  her  quiet.  But  so  far  she 
had  been  true,  and  this  must  do  for  the  present ;  yet  she 
felt  as  though  all  life  had  gone  out  of  her. 

Without  any  aim  in  her  going,  she  went  to  the  win- 


108  THE  FELMERES. 

dow,  and  looked  out ;  she  saw  Felix  coming  up  from  the 
river,  walking  slowly  and  heavily.  She  knew  he  would 
go  away,  and  a  vague  wonder  seized  on  her  as  to  what 
excuse  he  would  make  to  her  father  for  his  sudden  de- 
parture :  what  could  he  say  ?  The  thought  roused  her. 
Her  father  must  never  know  a  word  of  this ;  she  must 
manage  to  warn  Felix,  and  already  she  was  too  late  to  do 
anything  more  than  reach  the  library  before  he  did.  She 
slipped  down  stairs  and  reached  the  library  door  just  as 
Felix  was  about  to  enter  it.  Felix  paused,  and,  looking 
at  her  intently,  said  slowly : 

"  I  must  go  at  once." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  in  a  rapid  whisper.  Then,  her 
voice  seeming  to  fail  her,  she  made  a  gesture  toward  the 
room  in  which  her  father  sat  quietly  reading,  and  clasped 
her  hands  imploringly. 

A  dim  idea  came  to  Felix  of  what  she  wanted,  but  he 
was  too  bewildered  to  fully  understand.  One  moment 
she  paused  to  collect  herself,  then  entered  the  library, 
with  Felix  following  her.  She  approached  her  father  at 
once  and  spoke  clearly  and  quickly,  yet  all  the  while  with 
a  feeling  of  wonder  that  she  could  do  it ! 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Gordon  has  heard  some 
bad  news,  and  is  going  away." 

Mr.  Felmere  laid  down  his  book  and  looked  up. 

"  Bad  news  ? "  he  repeated. 

Helen  turned  to  Felix  imploringly.  He  understood 
her  now,  and  replied  instantly,  as  though  impelled  by 
something  stronger  than  himself : 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  bad  news,  but  not  of  my  own  family. 
It  calls  me  away,  however,  and  I  must  go  over  to  Felmere 
to-night  in  order  to  take  the  early  train  in  the  mornino-." 


THE  FELMERES.  109 

Mr.  Felmere  rose,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  I  am  extremely  grieved,"  he  said,  "  that  you  should 
have  to  leave  us,  and  under  such  circumstances.  We 
have  to  thank  you  for  a  very  pleasant  summer,  and  I 
need  not  tell  you  how  much  we  shall  miss  you,  nor  how 
happy  we  shall  be  to  see  you  whenever  you  can  come — 
eh,  Helen?" 

"Indeed,  yes,"  she  answered,  then  turned  away  to- 
ward the  door  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room. 

Felix  made  his  thanks  and  his  farewells  to  Mr.  Fel- 
mere veiy  creditably ;  but  before  he  finished  Helen  had 
left  the  room,  saying  something  about  Peter  and  the 
wagon  for  his  luggage. 

Felix  heard  the  door  close ;  then,  with  a  bitter  feel- 
ing at  his  heart,  he  turned  and  left  Mr.  Felmere.  Would 
she  let  him  go  without  a  word  ?  Had  he  so  mistaken 
her,  and  did  she  not  care  for  him  in  the  least  ?  He  put 
his  things  together,  and  watched  Peter  take  them  down, 
with  a  heavy  heart ;  then,  once  more  bidding  Mr.  Fel- 
mere good-by,  and  insisting  that  he  should  not  come  out 
into  the  night  air,  Felix  passed  into  the  hall.  Here  he 
paused  a  moment,  and  looked  about  as  though  he  ex- 
pected something.  It  was  but  for  a  moment ;  then  he 
turned  and  left  the  house  with  a  bitter  sigh. 

He  heard  the  wagon  rolling  away  in  the  gloaming,  and 
almost  wished  he  had  gone  in  it.  But  only  for  a  mo- 
ment he  thought  this,  for  as  he  reached  the  churchyard  a 
white  figure  rose  from  among  the  tombstones,  and  stood 
in  his  path. 

"  Miss  Felmere !  " 

"Mr.  Gordon!" 

Then  her  two  little  hands  were  hard  grasped  in  his, 


110  THE   FELMERES. 

and  her  eyes  gazed  into  his  as  one  looking  on  a  dying 
face  that  the  grave  will  soon  hide. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you,"  she  said.  "  I  would 
have  told  you  sooner,  but  when  the  knowledge  came  to 
me  that  I  had  done  you  wrong,  it  was  too  late." 

Oh,  the  ringing  sadness  in  that  voice !  Could  he  ever 
forget  it  ? 

"You  could  not  have  helped  it,"  he  answered  gently. 
"  I  loved  you  from  the  first." 

Then  they  stood  silent,  while  the  summer  breeze 
whispered  through  the  reeds,  and  the  evening  shadows 
blackened  round  them. 

"  Good-by,"  she  whispered  at  last.  Her  voice  seemed 
gone,  and  she  felt  weak  and  weary. 

The  grasp  of  his  hands  grew  closer. 

"  You  must  let  me  go,"  she  went  on  hurriedly.  "  I 
must  not  stay.  I  am  Philip's,  and  that  makes  it  sin  to 
you.  Through  me  you  must  not  sin  !  Go  now  ! " 

Ah,  how  sharply  the  words  struck  home !  His  grasp 
loosened,  and  ere  he  knew  it  she  had  raised  his  hands  to 
her  lips — those  slim  brown  hands  that  were  so  dear  to 
her — and  was  gone ! 

The  movement  was  so  sudden  and  so  swift,  that  when 
he  turned  the  shadows  had  almost  hidden  her.  He 
clinched  his  hands  as  if  to  hold  himself  from  catching 
her ;  one  spring  would  do  it !  The  moment  passed,  and 
she  was  gone  ! — and,  turning  slowly,  he  strode  away  from 
out  the  place  of  death. 


THE  FELMERES.  Ill 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  Then  as  a  little  helpless,  innocent  bird, 
That  has  but  one  plain  passage  of  few  notes, 
Will  sing  the  simple  passage  o'er  and  o'er 
For  all  an  April  morning,  till  the  ear 
Wearies  to  hear  it,  so  the  simple  maid 
Went  half  the  night  repeating  '  Must  I  die  ? ' 
And  now  to  right  she  turn'd,  and  now  to  left, 
And  found  no  ease  in  turning  or  in  rest ; 
And  '  Him  or  death,'  she  muttered,  '  death  or  him  '; 
Again,  and  like  a  burthen,  '  Him  or  death.'  " 

DAYS  passed,  and  that  same  clinging  strength  that 
had  come  to  her  down  by  the  river  stayed  with  her  still 
and  kept  her  quiet.  She  shed  no  tears,  she  made  no 
moan  that  any  soul  could  hear,  and,  without  any  seem- 
ing loss  of  interest,  went  about  her  daily  avocations  ;  but 
there  was  an  undertone  to  all  her  thoughts,  and  an  un- 
der-strength  born  of  the  hope  that  she  would  die.  What 
use  in  living  now  ?  what  use  in  any  work  ?  She  had 
"  drunk  life  to  the  lees,"  and  for  her  there  was  nothing 
left. 

That  love  of  which  she  had  read  and  dreamed  had 
come  to  her  and  touched  her  still  life,  until  it  danced  and 
sparkled — then  had  faded  ;  and  yet  not  faded,  but  rather 
had  been  put  away — and  put  away  through  strength  born 
of  that  very  love. 

More  than  all,  she  was  glad  to  think  that  her  father 
knew  nothing  of  it,  and  should  not  know ;  for  why  should 


112  THE   FELMERES. 

she  tell  him  that  her  life  and  heart  lay  wrecked  about 
her  ?  There  was  no  need  for  more  than  one  to  suffer, 
and  it  would  be  only  cruelty  to  tell  him  that  he  had  set 
a  seal  of  eternal  bondage  on  her,  and  thus  destroy  his 
last  gleam  of  happiness.  And  if  she  did  not  die  before 
he  did,  why  then  she  would  die  with  him.  Death  was 
nothing,  less  than  nothing — a  welcome  change  ! 

The  days  crept  by,  and  old  Jane,  watching  the  girl 
grow  so  wan  and  heavy-eyed,  feared  she  really  would 
die ;  so  the  old  woman  waited  on  her  tenderly,  doing 
nameless  little  things  for  her,  laying  little  traps  to  pro- 
voke her  appetite,  and  making  little  surprises  for  her; 
but  to  no  use  ;  Helen  only  thanked  her,  and  passed  on. 

At  last  the  faithful  soul  thought  that  to  see  another 
in  worse  plight  will  sometimes  soothe  us ;  so  she  told 
Helen  of  a  poor  woman  beyond  the  village  who  sadly 
needed  aid,  and  begged  that  she  would  go  with  her  to  see 
her. 

"  But  all  the  people  think  me  so  wicked,"  Helen  an- 
swered, with  a  bitter  recollection  of  the  sexton's  little  sou, 
"  that  they  will  not  let  me  in." 

"No,  no,  Miss  Helen,  ye  must  not  think  that;  for 
they  all  know  that  in  all  your  life  y've  never  harmed  so 
much  as  a  fly.  They  all  think  it  wrong  that  ye  do  not 
believe,  Miss  Helen ;  and  it  is  very  wrong — ye  don't 
know  how  wrong.  But  come,  won't  ye  ?  Maybe  the 
new  walk  will  help  ye." 

"  So  it  might,"  Helen  answered ;  "  I  will  go."  So  she 
put  her  hat  on,  and,  taking  her  purse,  set  out  with  the 
old  woman  as  guide  on  her  first  mission  of  mercy. 

Jane  had  put  on  her  black  silk,  for  she  knew  they 
would  be  the  village  talk  for  the  next  week ;  and  for  the 


THE   FELMERES.  113 

same  reason  she  walked  the  narrow  streets  with  her  head 
held  high.  She  rather  enjoyed  her  importance,  and  felt 
quite  proud  of  her  young  mistress,  who  was  so  beautiful 
that  the  people  in  the  street  stopped  and  turned  to  look 
at  her.  More  than  this,  the  Felmeres  were  the  only 
gentlefolk  for  miles  and  miles,  and  had  once  owned  all 
the  countryside.  True,  they  did  seem  cursed  now  and 
dying  out,  but  even  that  was  a  mark  of  honor.  So  old 
Jane  stepped  proudly  and  bowed  patronizingly  to  her 
passing  friends. 

Finally  they  came  to  the  bakery,  and  here  Jane 
stopped. 

"  We  had  best  buy  something  here,  Miss  Helen,"  .she 
said,  "  to  take  to  the  poor  soul." 

"  What  shall  I  buy  ? "  Helen  asked,  at  a  loss ;  and  as 
she  spoke  the  baker's  wife  bustled  in. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Judson,"  Jane  said  in  a  stately 
way.  "  Mrs.  Felmere  has  come  to  get  some  bread  for 
poor  neighbor  Elmore." 

Helen  looked  up  quickly:  what  did  Jane  mean  by 
calling  her  "  Mrs."  ? 

Mrs.  Judson,  being  a  silent  woman,  only  bowed,  and 
immediately  proceeded  to  put  up  the  bread.  But  the 
"  Judson  girls,"  as  the  neighbors  called  them,  who  were 
peeping  through  the  glass  door,  thought  their  mother  de- 
mented not  to  talk.  To  think  of  being  face  to  face  with 
the  beautiful  Mrs.  Felmere,  who  was  surrounded  by  so 
much  delightful  mystery,  and  not  saying  a  word !  A  girl 
who  had  been  married  so  curiously,  and  who  was  so  rich 
and  wicked — for  they  had  heard  the  whole  story,  legacy 
and  all,  from  the  magistrate's  daughter,  and  had  quite 
longed  to  see  the  heroine  of  it ;  and  now  she  stood  in 


114  THE  FELMERES. 

tlieir  very  shop,  and  their  mother  would  not  talk !  Was 
ever  such  a  grand  opportunity  lost  ? 

And  Helen,  quite  unconscious  of  what  a  source  of  in- 
terest she  was  to  the  community,  leaned  quietly  against 
the  counter  and  looked  out  into  the  street.  Presently, 
among  a  group  of  little  children  gathered  about  the  door, 
she  recognized  the  sexton's  son.  A  little  pang  shot 
through  her.  She  wished  to  speak  to  him  for  the  sake 
of  associations,  so  she  called  him  in. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  choose  what  you  most  want,  little 
boy,  and  you  shall  have  it." 

The  child's  eyes  opened  wide  in  wonder,  and  the  Jud- 
son  girls  nearly  pushed  their  noses  through  the  door  in 
their  eagerness  to  see.  "  Choose,  child,"  said  Jane ; 
"  don't  keep  a  lady  waiting." 

So  with  much  hesitation  he  made  his  choice  of  candy 
and  cakes,  and  Helen,  ordering  a  large  bundle  of  each  for 
him,  sent  him  on  his  way  rejoicing. 

It  was  quite  a  long  walk  to  neighbor  Elmore's  house, 
and  Helen  was  tired  enough ;  but  she  thought,  with  a 
little  feeling  of  rest  at  her  heart,  "  Perhaps  I  shall  sleep 
to-night." 

When  at  last  they  stopped,  she  was  shocked  to  see 
what  a  bitterly  poor  place  it  was  Jane  ushered  her  into. 
Low  and  damp,  it  seemed  to  be  overrun  with  dirt  and 
children.  It  was  not  until  she  became  accustomed  to  the 
dim  light  that  she  discovered  the  bed  in  one  corner  on 
which  the  poor  consumptive  was  lying,  huddled  together 
under  some  fragments  of  blankets  and  old  clothes.  Helen 
looked  about  her  in  wonder ;  she  had  read  of  such  things, 
but  only  believed  them  in  a  vague  way ;  now  she  saw  for 
herself. 


THE  FELMERES.  115 

Jane  bustled  about  and  found  a  chair  for  Helen,  then 
turned  her  attention  toward  making  the  poor  woman 
more  comfortable.  She  had  brought,  besides  the  bread, 
a  basket  of  stores  from  home ;  and  as  Helen  watched  her 
unpack  them,  and  saw  the  greediness  with  which  the  sick 
woman's  eyes  followed  her  every  motion,  she  wondered 
how  such  an  existence  was  possible.  Presently  their  con- 
versation  caught  her  ear :  the  poor  woman  was  speaking. 

"  Father  Paul  was  here  yesterday,  and  made  a  promise 
he  would  try  and  put  me  in  a  better  house;  he'd  do  it, 
too,  if  he  had  the  money." 

"  Yes,"  Jane  answered ;  "  he  is  a  blessed  man,  is 
Father  Paul — a  blessed  man  and  holy." 

"  True  enough,"  the  woman  went  on,  "  and  he  spoke 
most  beautiful  about  my  sickness ;  it  was  sent  in  mercy, 
he  said,  and  I  must  bear  it.  All  the  same  he  would  try 
and  put  me  in  a  better  house." 

Helen  was  puzzled.  This  awful  want  and  sickness 
sent  in  mercy  ?  How  could  that  be  ? 

Then  she  broke  into  their  talk,  and  asked  :  "  How 
much  will  it  take  to  put  you  in  a  new  house  ? " 

The  women  turned  quickly ;  they  had  almost  forgot- 
ten her.  Mrs.  Elmore  answered  : 

"  I  dunno,  Miss — " 

"  Jfrs."  said  Jane ;  "  the  young  lady  is  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere ;  she  is  married  to  her  cousin." 

The  angry  color  flashed  into  Helen's  face. 

What  did  Jane  mean  by  this  behavior?  And  yet, 
she  spoke  the  truth. 

For  a  moment  Helen  forgot  the  sick  woman  and  her 
house,  and  was  away  in  the  summer  just  gone !  Ay,  it 
had  been  sweet,  very  sweet ;  she  sighed — alas,  too  sweet ! 


116  THE   PELMERES. 

"  Father  Paul  can  tell  ye,  Mrs.  Felmere  " — the  sick 
woman  it  was  who  called  her  back  to  herself;  "he  can 
tell  ye  how  much  it  is,  and  where  the  house  is.  And  oh, 
lady,  if  ye  wud  do  it  fur  me  !  if  ye  wud,  I'd  pray  to  all 
the  holy  saints  fur  ye,  and  the  Blessed  Yirgin  and  Her 
Son  to  care  fur  ye  for  ever ! " 

"  She  will  do  it,  neighbor,"  Jane  answered  quickly  ; 
u  I  know  she  will,  and  I  will  stop  and  ask  Father  Paul 
myself  aboutrit — eh,  Miss  Helen?" 

"  Yes,  Jane." 

Then  they  rose  to  go,  bidding  the  wroman  good-by 
amid  many  blessings  called  down  on  them  by  her  poor 
thin  lips. 

Once  out  in  the  open  air,  Helen  felt  much  better, 
and,  being  more  at  her  ease,  spoke  freely  to  Jane. 

"  My  father  will  not  like  me  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  Father  Paul,  and  you  know  it,  Jane." 

"  Sure,  Miss  Helen,  I  know  that,  none  better ;  but  if 
y'  can  not  do  your  own  way  now,  when  can  ye?  And  I 
know  them  aster  will  be  glad  for  y'  to  help  the  poor,  an' 
take  some  satisfaction  in  somethin'.  " 

Helen  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 

"Suppose  Father  Paul  should  insult  me?"  she 
said. 

"  Sakes  alive,  Miss  Helen !  an'  he  a  priest !  Never 
in  this  world ! "  Jane  felt  almost  insulted.  "  But  here 
he  comes  himself,"  she  went  on  in  a  little  flurry,  as  she 
spied  Father  Paul  coming  toward  them. 

Helen  looked  up.  She  felt  some  curiosity  to  see  the 
man  who  had  driven  her  mother  away — the  man  who  had 
so  materially  altered  her  life. 

He  was  tall  and  slim,  with  a  strong,  stern  face,  clear- 


THE   FELMERES.  117 

cut  and  dark.  The  rim  of  hair  that  showed  below  his 
black  hat  was  snowy  white,  but  his  dark  eyes  still  had  all 
the  power  and  light  of  youth.  There  was  something 
about  him  that  very  much  attracted  her,  and  she  kept 
her  eyes  fixed  on  him  until  Jane  spoke  to  him,  when  he 
ceased  his  conversation  with  a  group  of  children  gathered 
on  the  sidewalk. 

"  Good  evening,  Father,"  she  said  with  a  low  cour- 
tesy. 

He  looked  up  first  at  Jane,  then  at  Helen,  and  started 
slightly. 

"  Good  evening,  Jane,"  he  answered,  still  looking  at 
Helen. 

Jane  went  on. 

"  This  is  my  young  mistress,  sir,  Mrs.  Felmere.  She 
is  married  to  her  cousin,  ye  know,  sir."  Father  Paul 
bowed,  and  Helen  also ;  and  Jane,  looking  curiously  and 
anxiously  from  one  to  the  other,  continued :  "  We  have 
been  to  see  poor  neighbor  Elmore,  and  Mrs.  Felmere 
would  like  to  put  her  into  a  new  house  it  ye'll  tell  her 
how  much  it  would  be." 

Father  Paul's  face  brightened  a  little. 

"  Mrs.  Felmere  is  very  kind,"  he  said,  "  and  the  room 
I  had  thought  of  for  Mrs.  Elmore  is  rented  at  two  dollars 
the  month.  Moving  her  will  be  a  few  dollars  more ;  but 
I  shall  have  enough  for  that." 

"I  have  told  her  I  would  do  it,"  Helen  answered 
gravely,  "and  I  would  prefer  doing  all.  If  you  will 
have  her  moved,  please,  and  her  room  decently  furnished, 
I  shall  be  ready  at  any  time  to  pay  for  it." 

The  voice  was  so  clear  and  true,  and  the  face  he 
looked  on  so  beautiful  and  sad,  that  Father  Paul  felt  a 


118  THE   FELMERES. 

kinder  feeling  creeping  over  him  for  the  young  crea- 
ture. 

"  I  shall  do  it  with  much  pleasure,"  he  said,  and,  lift- 
ing his  hat,  passed  on. 

"I  wish  you  would  not  call  me  '  Mrs.J  Jane,"  Helen 
said  impatiently  as  they  went  on. 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Helen,  begging  your  pardon,  but  it's 
best;  and  if  we  had  always  done  it,  this  last  trouble 
wouldn't  'a'  come." 

And  Helen,  feeling  the  truth  of  the  words,  walked  on 
in  silence. 

She  was  Philip's  wife,  and  that  other  must  always  be 
as  a  dream,  a  dream  that  had  passed  away  —  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  that  had  stolen  through  the  cloud  of  her  fate, 
and  fading  had  left  a  double  darkness  behind  it  !  Even 
so,  and  she  must  bear  it. 

"Father,"  she  began,  after  they  had  settled  down  for 
the  evening,  "I  have  been  visiting  this  afternoon  with 
Jane." 

"  What  is  this  you  say,  my  daughter?  Visiting,  and 
with  Jane?"  he  repeated  slowly,  looking  at  her  question- 


"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  but  only  to  see  a  poor  sick 
creature  who  needed  help.  I  did  not  think  you  would 
object  ;  do  you  ?  " 

"  Let  me  hear  more  of  it,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  she  is  a  poor  consumptive  named  Elmore  ;  she 
is  poverty-stricken,  and  has  several  little  children."  Then 
Helen  paused,  for  she  wished  to  bring  in  Father  Paul's 
name  very  gently.  "  She  is  living  in  a  wretched  hovel," 
she  went  on  after  a  moment,  "  windy  and  leaking.  The 
priest,  she  said,  wished  to  move  her  into  a  better  place, 


THE  FELMERES.  119 

but  had  not  the  money,  so  I  told  her  I  would  do  it.    Was 
I  wrong  ? " 

"  No,  if  you  wished  to  do  it,"  he  answered. 

Helen  went  on : 

"  On  our  way  home  we  met  Father  Paul,  and  Jane 

*/  ' 

stopped  him." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  him  \ "  Mr.  Felmere  was  looking 
into  the  fire  with  a  frown  on  his  brow. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  he  was  very  polite.  I  told  him  what 
I  wished  to  do  for  the  poor  woman,  and  that  if  he  would 
have  her  moved  and  make  her  comfortable,  I  should  be 
ready  to  pay  for  it  at  any  time ;  then  he  thanked  me  and 
went  on.  Are  you  angry  \ " 

"  No,  not  angry,  nor  do  I  object  to  your  visiting  the 
poor  if  it  amuses  you ;  but  I  prefer  you  to  see  the  priest 
as  little  as  possible."  And  as  he  spoke  his  voice  grew 
harsh. 

"  Of  course,  father."  Then  more  slowly,  "  He  has  a 
fine,  strong  face,  and  after  seeing  him  I  am  sure  he 
thought  himself  right  in  what  he  did;  and  you  know, 
father,"  looking  up  persuasively,  "  we  can  not  do  more  nor 
less  than  what  we  think  is  right."  She  paused  suddenly 
as  she  found  herself  using  so  glibly  Felix's  argument. 

"  Perhaps,"  Mr.  Felmere  answered  slowly ;  "  but  still 
he  wrought  the  evil,  and  from  what  motive  I  could  not 
know.  As  it  is,  an  eternal  gulf  divides  us.  I  hope  it  is 
eternal ;  yet  Paul  Donaldson  was  one  of  my  earliest 
friends."  And  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  he  gazed  into 
the  fire  with  an  unforgiving  look  on  his  face.  Helen  sat 
silent  and  thoughtful.  Father  Paul  had  been  his  friend 
— how  strange  !  She  would  have  liked  to  ask  something 
more  about  him,  to  solve  a.  little  further  this  new  mys- 


120  THE   FELMERES. 

tery ;  but  she  feared  too  much  paining  her  father.  What 
a  hard  life  her  father's  had  been — harder  even  than  hers ; 
yet  she  so  bemoaned  herself,  and  he  stood  silent !  He 
had  had  his  wife,  whom  he  so  dearly  loved,  driven  away 
from  him  by  his  friend  !  "Was  her  life  as  sad  as  that  ? 
His  had  been  one  long  endurance ;  so  would  hers  be : 
his  through  losing  all  he  loved,  hers  through  this  and 
worse,  the  endurance  of  what  she  now  almost  abhorred  ! 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Never  mind,  death 
should  come,  and  death  would  end  all !  " 

After  this  she  continued  visiting  the  poor  and  miser- 
able about  her,  going  among  them  constantly,  and  giving 
them  comforts  that  nothing  but  money  could  buy  and 
give.  Nor  was  it  long  before  she  found  herself  not  only 
interested,  but  with  an  actual  affection  growing  up  within 
her  for  the  children  in  the  village.  The  mothers,  too, 
soon  learned  to  like  her,  and  to  be  glad  to  see  her  coming ; 
giving  her  the  most  comfortable  chair,  and  telling  her 
their  little  trials  and  joys  as  they  would  to  one  of  them- 
selves. She  seemed  at  once  to  possess  herself  of  their 
confidence,  for  she  showed  a  true  sympathy  for  them  in 
their  troubles.  She  did  not  confine  herself  in  her  rounds 
to  the  extremely  poor,  but  visited  also  the  better  class  of 
farmers  and  their  wives.  She  liked  to  go  among  them, 
and  often  she  envied  them — these  rich  poor  people !  who 
so  patiently  tilled  the  soil  and  drew  their  living  from  it ; 
who  looked  no  further  than  the  next  day,  and,  thanking 
God  for  all  they  had,  asked  no  questions — a  simple  faith 
that  to  her  looked  very  beautiful  and  happy.  And  if  the 
happiness  of  the  human  race  was  the  object  held  in  view 
by  the  advanced  minds  of  the  age,  she  thought  they  made 
a  mistake  in  not  giving  to  the  world  this  faith  as  a  rest- 


THE   FELMERES.  121 

ing-place.  It  was  more  easily  reached  than  "  philosophic 
calm."  That  calm  her  father  thought  he  had  attained  to ; 
and  yet  she  felt  sure  that  if  he  knew  of  her  unhappiness, 
he  would  at  this  moment  be  equally  unhappy.  Was  this 
"calm"?  Alas!  she  did  not  believe  such  calm  could  be 
reached  until  the  death  of  all  human  affection  had  been 
accomplished.  And  was  this  imperfect  result  worth  the 
suffering  and  strife  it  cost  ?  She  hardly  thought  it  was. 
She  stood  a  better  chance  of  attaining  this  height  than 
her  father  had  done,  in  that  when  he  died  her  last  heart- 
string  would  be  broken !  And  in  the  autumn  evenings, 
as  she  walked  home  through  the  yellowing  fields,  passing 
by  happy  homesteads,  she  would  sigh  and  turn  her  head 
away,  with  a  feeling  of  hunger  at  her  heart  for  some- 
thing she  had  not !  longing  for  that  one  heart  she  could 
not  have — longing  for  the  light  and  the  love  those  dear 
eyes  would  have  shed  on  her,  and  home-sick  for  the  home 
those  dear  hands  would  have  led  her  to !  wondering  where 
he  was,  and  if  all  were  well  with  him ;  and  hoping  with 
a  wild  strength  that  somewhere  in  the  world  she  might 
meet  him  again  !  So  once  more  she  watched  the  dingy 
maple  drop  its  leaves — watched  the  wide  green  marsh 
grow  brown,  and  the  snow-drifts  gather  between  the 
graves. 

One  year  ago !     Ah,  if  she  could  only  claim  that  year 
again,  and  live  it  over — or  if  she  could  bury  it ! 


122  THE   FELMERES. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  After  this  sad  farewell 
To  a  world  loved  too  well; 
After  this  silent  bed 
With  the  forgotten  dead — 
What  then?" 

THE  winter  slowly  gathered  in,  and  Mrs.  Elmore  lay 
dying.  Her  feeble  hold  on  life  was  lessening  each  day, 
yet  she  did  not  seem  to  cling  to  it,  nor  to  be  sorry  that 
her  time  had  come. 

Helen  watched  her  almost  curiously.  It  was  strange 
to  be  able  to  stand  and  look  on  this  fellow  mortal  fading 
toward  the  end  of  her  span  of  certain  life,  and  nearing 
helplessly  that  vast  and  wide  mysterious  uncertainty  of 
which  no  man  could  tell !  Would  the  woman  be  afraid  ? 
she  wondered ;  or  would  her  religious  faith,  as  it  pro- 
fessed to  do,  uphold  her  at  the  last  ? 

One  afternoon  there  came  a  hasty  messenger. 

"  Would  Miss  Helen  come  ?  Mrs.  Elmore  was  dying 
and  wanted  her." 

"  She  would  go ! " 

There  was  no  refusing  such  a  request;  and,  calling 
Peter,  she  ordered  the  sleigh,  and  made  her  preparations 
for  going. 

It  was  a  wild,  ghastly  evening.  The  wind  was  howl- 
ing, and  the  snow  lay  thick  and  white  over  all  the  land. 
So  deep  was  it  that  the  shapes  of  the  graves  had  disap- 
peared ;  the  wall  looked  a  blank,  and  the  marsh  seemed 
one  frozen  sheet. 


THE   FELMERES.  123 

Helen  shivered  as  she  looked  abroad.  How  dreary 
to  die  on  such  a  day  !  how  awful  to  be  put  away  beneath 
the  snow ! 

Then  all  was  ready,  and  they  set  off ;  but  it  was  a  long, 
slow  drive,  for  Peter  at  his  best  was  never  a  reckless 
driver,  and  to-day  he  seemed  to  be  afraid  to  let  the  horse 
do  more  than  crawl,  and  with  all  Helen's  patient  urging 
seldom  got  beyond  a  fast  walk.  Finally,  finding  her 
words  of  no  use,  she  let  the  old  man  alone,  and  sat 
silently  thinking  of  the  scene  that  was  to  be  gone  through 
with.  She  had  never  seen  so  much  as  a  bird  die,  and 
she  wondered  what  it  would  be  like ;  and  as  she  won- 
dered, they  reached  the  long  level  hilltop,  where,  the 
wind  having  full  sweep  at  them,  she  felt  the  cold  strike 
through  her  like  a  sword !  She  shivered.  Would  death 
be  like  that — only  slow  and  creeping,  gathering  about 
one  with  a  horrible,  irresistible  slowness?  She  wished 
Jane  had  come,  or  that  her  father  had  prohibited  her 
going.  It  was  too  cold ;  she  would  turn  back.  Turn 
back?  "Was  she  afraid,  and  of  what  she  had  said  was 
nothing  ?  And  still  Peter  drove  slowly  on,  hearing  no 
suggestion  of  turning  back. 

If  she  could  help  the  poor  woman  to  bear  it,  of  course 
she  would.  Some  day  she  would  herself  have  to  face  this 
mysterious  something  that  sooner  or  later  claimed  all — 
this  death  she  had  in  her  wild  agony  promised  herself — 
and  then  she  would  want  some  comfort  and  help.  It  was 
strange  that  she  should  be  so  terrified  by  the  thought  of 
even  seeing  it  borne  by  another,  and  she  had  promised  it 
to  herself  as  a  boon.  She  hid  her  face,  she  was  so  piti- 
fully weak !  She  was  weak,  and  had  more  than  once 
confessed  it  to  herself ;  but  as  she  j^ondered  on  it,  it  more 


124:  THE  FELMERES. 

and  more  came  home  to  her  how  terrible  it  must  "be  to 
die  alone — to  die  without  a  human  creature  to  stand  by 
you,  or  the  warm  touch  of  a  living  hand  about  your 
own — to  go  out  into  that  dark  void  without  one  farewell 
word ! 

Ah,  the  awfulness  of  this  mystery  !  She  dreaded  the 
ordeal  very  much,  but  through  her  dread  there  stole  a 
gleam  of  hope  that  in  witnessing  it  she  might  catch  a 
glimpse  of  what  it  was  that  made  these  Christians  believe 
in  a  beyond.  But  if  she  did,  what  good  to  her  ?  She 
had  sworn  not  to  go  with  them.  Poor  woman !  would 
she  be  afraid — would  her  God  help  her  ? 

They  reached  the  house  at  last,  and  saw  Father  Paul's 
pony  looking  as  though  it  was  leaning  against  the  post  it 
was  tied  to.  Poor  little  thin  pony !  Helen  doubted 
much  if  it  were  ever  thoroughly  filled  or  warmed.  Its 
master  did  not  look  over-well  clothed  or  fed  himself ;  and 
as  the  parish  was  a  poor  one,  she  thought  it  more  than 
probable  that  her  surmises  were  true.  Peter  had  brought 
two  blankets  for  his  horse,  who  was  quite  fat  enough  to 
do  with  one ;  so  Helen  ordered  him  to  put  one  on  the 
poor  pony.  "  And,  Peter,"  she  said,  "  you  will  leave  that 
blanket  there  when  we  go."  She  somehow  longed  to 
help  all  living  creatures,  for  some  day  she  might  need 
help  herself.  She  imagined  the  poor  beast  looked  at  her 
gratefully,  and  Peter  certainly  did.  Then  she  gathered 
up  her  dress  and  went  into  the  house. 

The  sick  woman's  room,  thanks  to  Helen,  was  com- 
fortably furnished  and  warm ;  and  the  bed  had  thick 
decent  covering  on  it.  The  children,  too,  were  well 
clothed,  and  looked  better  cared  for  than  most  children 
of  their  class. 


THE   FELMERES.  125 

Mrs.  Judson,  the  baker's  wife,  sat  near  the  fire  with 
the  little  things  gathered  about  her ;  the  doctor  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed ;  one  or  two  neighbors  sat  near ;  and 
the  priest  stood  by  the  dying  woman  talking  to  her. 
The  services  for  the  dying  were  all  over,  the  farewells 
had  all  been  said,  and  now  they  only  waited  to  see  her 
die. 

All  turned  at  Helen's  entrance,  and  the  face  of  the 
dying  woman  seemed  to  brighten  a  little  as  she  motioned 
Helen  to  her  side.  A  sort  of  awe  came  over  her — the 
room  was  so  still — the  crisis  was  so  dreadful — and  who 
was  right  ? 

Father  Paul  moved  to  the  other  side  of  the  narrow 
bed,  and  Mrs.  Elmore  grasped  Helen's  hands,  looking  at 
them  a  moment  as  in  wonder. 

"  So  warm,  and  strong,  and  young,"  she  whispered  ; 
"  and  mine — look  at  them !  " 

And  Helen  looked — so  pitifully  thin  they  were  and 
cold !  Ah,  they  struck  a  chill  through  her,  more  piercing 
.far  than  wind  or  snow!  Then  her  eyes  met  the  poor 
patient  dying  eyes  below  them,  and  filled  with  tears. 

"  You  are  so  beautiful,"  the  woman  faltered — "  so 
beautiful  and  good — I  know  the  good  God  will  save  your 
soul.  And  I  have  prayed  fur  ye — yes,  more  times  nor  I 
can  count,  fur  I  don't  know  much.  I  am  but  a  poor 
creetur ;  but  y'ave  been  so  good  to  me  I  wanted  to  do 
somethin'  fur  ye,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do ;  but  I  did  it 
earnest-like  an'  true,  an'  if  the  dear  God  answers  my 
prayers  y'  shall  be  saved."  The  poor  voice  faltered ;  she 
seemed  almost  gone. 

Father  Paul  gave  her  some  stimulant,  and  with  this 
little  foreign  strength  she  motioned  him  to  pray.  He 


126  THE   FELMERES. 

knelt  obedient  to  the  signal,  and  the  poor  woman,  still 
holding  Helen's  hands,  now  almost  as  cold  as  her  own, 
tried  to  push  heron  her  knees;  but  Helen  could  not 
kneel,  and  all  the  company,  some  kneeling,  some  stand- 
ing, were  watching  and  waiting. 

Helen  shook  her  head. 

"  It  would  be  a  mockery,"  she  said  hurriedly ;  and  all 
the  bystanders  seemed  to  draw  away  from  her — all  save 
the  priest  and  the  dying  woman. 

"  Oh,  humble  yerself ,  child  ! "  the  woman  said,  "  or 
the  Lord  will  humble  ye  in  some  dreadful  way." 

But  again  Helen  shook  her  head ;  she  could  not  leave 
her  father.  Then  they  let  her  stand,  and  the  prayer 
went  on. 

It  seemed  to  Helen  to  be  a  sort  of  commendatory 
prayer  for  the  dying;  and  as  she  listened  she  thought 
that  surely  this  would  comfort  the  poor  creature  if  she 
believed  it.  and  she  seemed  to  do  so.  It  was  simple,  too ; 
any  one  could  understand  it. 

It  ceased,  and  there  was  a  sudden  stillness.  "Was  the 
woman  dead  ? 

The  face  on  the  pillow  looked  so  strange,  so  gray  and 
pinched  !  What  a  horrible  thing  death  was !  And  the 
priest,  standing  there  with  the  crucifix  in  his  hand,  held 
high  before  the  dying  woman,  seemed  cut  in  stone. 

Helen  tried  to  draw  away ;  but  the  grasp  of  the  cold 
hands  tightened  with  that  terrible  death-strength  that  has 
so  much  of  pitiful  impotence  in  it,  and  she  was  con- 
strained to  stay  where  she  was.  And  she  stood  as  though 
spellbound,  gazing  down  on  the  drawn  face,  watching  it 
with  a  strange  fascination  she  could  not  master. 

Slowly  the  eyes  opened  beneath  her  look,  and  fixed 


THE  FELMERES.  127 

themselves  on  hers — so  beseeching,  so  pitiful,  so  fearfully 
bright,  lighted  with  the  last  rays  of  the  fluttering  spirit ! 
A  dim  glassy  look  crept  over  them  ;  there  came  a  convul- 
sive shudder,  a  rattling  in  the  throat ;  the  jaw  dropped, 
and  the  hands  that  held  Helen's  were  dead  !  The  flame 
had  been  blown  out :  where  was  it  ? 

A  horror  seized  Helen ;  she  tried  to  loosen  the  hold 
of  the  dead  hands ;  she  must  go — she  must  reach  fresh 
air  or  die !  Those  dreadful  hands  were  freezing  her  very 
blood! 

Father  Paul  looked  with  pity  on  the  horror-stricken 
face,  and  gently  loosened  the  dead  woman's  hands :  she 
was  not  used  to  death — poor  child ! 

Once  outside,  Helen  stood  still  to  let  the  wild  winter 
wind  sweep  over  her.  Then  she  rubbed  her  hands  with 
snow :  that  coldness  was  life-like  warmth  to  the  clammy 
ice-chill  of  those  dead  hands !  Oh,  if  she  could  only  rub 
the  scene  from  her  memory — that  shudder,  that  sound,  so 
terrible,  so  awfully  mysterious,  so  hideous ! 

Old  Peter  seemed  to  take  years  to  uncover  and  un- 
fasten the  horse :  would  he  never  be  ready  to  take  her 
away  from  that  dreadful  place  ?  At  last  he  was  ready, 
and  they  started  on  their  slow,  crawling  journey  over  the 
snow.  So  slowly  they  went,  they  scarcely  seemed  to  move. 
She  was  bitterly  cold.  The  wind  blew  full  on  her,  the 
snow  nearly  blinded  her ;  and  old  Peter,  doubled  up  in 
front,  looked  scarcely  human.  The  memory  of  the  death- 
scene  clung  about  her,  and  she  shivered  as  she  looked 
around  her  in  the  falling  shadows.  If  they  could  only  go 
a  little  faster ! 

The  night  had  settled  down  when  they  reached  the 
churchyard,  and,  in  the  shifting  white  light  that  seemed 


128  THE  FELMERES. 

to  be  shed  by  the  falling  snow,  the  tombstones  looked 
like  restless  spirits  wandering  to  and  fro.  Helen  closed 
her  eyes :  she  wished  Peter  would  say  something ;  or  was 
he  dead  too  ?  She  roused  herself ;  she  was  unnerved 
and  foolish,  and  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself.  So  she 
sat  up  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  light  from  the  library 
window,  determined  not  to  be  so  foolish ;  but,  foolish  or 
not,  she  had  to  confess  that  in  all  her  life  she  had  never 
heard  so  sweet  a  sound  as  Jane's  cracked  voice  calling  to 
them  as  she  opened  the  gate ;  and  in  the  grasp  of  her 
father's  hand  and  his  warm  kiss  there  was  something  very 
delightfully  real.  Ah,  she  was  very  glad  to  get  home ! 

When  she  came  down  stairs  after  changing  her  dress, 
Mr.  Felmere  watched  her  curiously.  He  knew  where 
she  had  been,  and  why  she  had  gone,  and  had  let  her  go 
almost  as  an  experiment.  Now  he  was  watching  for  the 
results.  She  came  in  slowly  and  knelt  in  front  of  the  fire, 
holding  her  hands  as  close  to  the  blaze  as  possible. 

"  Are  your  hands  so  cold  that  you  need  scorch  them, 
daughter  ? "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  "  terribly  cold ! " 

"  Then  let  me  rub  them  for  you,"  he  went  on. 

She  was  more  than  glad  to  turn  and  lay  them  in  his 
soft  warm  grasp ;  it  would  perhaps  destroy  the  death-chill 
that  seemed  to  cling  to  them. 

"  They  are  very  cold,"  Mr.  Felmere  continued,  as  he 
stroked  them  gently.  "  Did  you  not  wear  gloves  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father ;  but  you  can  not  know  how  that  dead 
woman  clung  to  my  hands.  Oh,  it  was  so  awful !  " 

"  Why  did  you  allow  her  to  hold  them  ?  "  he  asked, 
almost  impatiently ;  for  now  that  he  saw  how  nervous 
and  overcome  she  was,  he  was  sorry  he  had  let  her  go. 


THE   FELMERES.  129 

"  I  could  not  help  it,"  she  answered,  laying  her  face 
down  on  his  knee ;  "  she  called  me,  and  I  had  to  go,  and 
then  she  held  them  until  she  died.  Father,  death  is 
awful!" 

"  Not  if  you  look  upon  it  as  a  release,  my  child,"  he 
answered  slowly ;  "  not  if  you  think  of  it  as  a  rest  from 
toil  and  sorrow — as  a  sleep  that  has  no  waking — a  night 
that  has  no  morning.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  look  upon,  but 
it  should  have  no  terrors  for  the  thoughtful."  And  he 
gently  kissed  the  little  hands  he  held. 

"  I  know  all  that,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  still  there  is 
a  horror  about  it  I  did  not  expect ;  such  an  awful,  lifeless 
stupidity  crept  over  the  face — such  a  resistless  convulsion 
— and  such  a  sound  as  I  hope  I  shall  never  hear  again. 
Then  she  was  nothing !  That  is  the  worst  thought." 

"How?  "he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know  exactly,"  she  answered  ;  "  but,  as  I 
watched  her  dying,  life  seemed  so  useless,  and  death  so 
horrible!  One  moment  she  looked  at;  me  so  beseech- 
ingly, a  knowing,  thinking  being;  the  next,  the  eyes 
were  dim,  the  jaw  fallen,  and  she  lay  there  a  lump  of 
lifeless  matter !  She  had  spent  her  life  in  caring  for  that 
useless  body,  in  clothing  it  and  feeding  it ;  and  what  was 
the  result  ?  Nothing  ?  After  a  long .  life  in  which  she 
loved  herself,  cared  for  herself,  and  thought  herself  some- 
thing— stood  up  before  the  world  a  creature  to  be  consid- 
ered among  her  kind,  a  loving,  hating,  sorrowing  woman 
— then  the  end  comes.  And  is  she  nothing  ?  To  me  it 
all  seems  so  unmeaningly  dreadful — this  long  life  to  no 
purpose !  " 

"  And  therefore,"  Mr.  Felmere  answered  slowly,  "  we 
should  not  spend  our  lives  grieving  over  small  sorrows — 


130  THE  FELMERES. 

over  useless  desires  and  longings,  and  in  useless  strivings ; 
for  death  soon  comes  and  destroys  all." 

Helen  was  silent.  If  this  were  so,  why  live  at  all  ? 
At  last  she  said : 

"  Father,  what  was  the  use  or  beauty  of  that  poor 
life,  lived  at  such  a  cost  of  suffering,  and  now  swept 
away?" 

"  Her  life  was  the  result  of  natural  laws,"  Mr.  Felmere 
answered  quietly.  "  That  it  was  not  useful  or  beautiful 
we  do  not  know ;  but  if  not,  it  was  her  own  fault.  She 
did  not  reach  up  to  a  higher  life,  she  did  not  recognize 
the  beauty  and  order  of  the  universe  by  which  she  was 
surrounded,  and  so  did  not  put  herself  and  her  life  in 
accord  with  it.  She  had  but  one,  and  that  the  lowest,  end 
of  life  in  view — her  daily  bread." 

"  And  she  did  not  make  that,"  Helen  answered ;  "  so 
why  look  for  a  higher  ? " 

"  Her  failure  was  the  result  of  ignorance,"  JVIr.  Fel- 
mere returned — "  her  ignorance,  the  fault  of  her  progen- 
itors ;  and  their  ignorance  could  possibly  be  traced  back 
in  the  same  way.  So  it  was  her  own  fault,  and  the  fault 
of  those  from  whom  she  came,  that  her  life  seemed  use- 
less. Our  lives  are  in  our  own  hands,  to  make  or  mar  as 
we  please — to  be  made  beautiful  and  useful  in  accordance 
with  the  laws  of  order,  or  to  be  ruined  and  defaced  as  we 
see  fit.  But  in  either  case  we  have  only  ourselves  to  look 
to,  and  ourselves  to  blame." 

"  And  how,  then,  can  I  make  my  life  useful  and  beau- 
tiful ?  "  the  girl  asked. 

"  By  educating  yourself  up  to  the  highest  of  which 
you  are  capable,  and  so  reaching  happiness  for  yourself 
by  the  full  and  harmonious  development  of  all  your  facul- 


THE   FELMERES.  131 

ties.  This  will  make  your  life  beautiful.  Your  example, 
and  the  assistance  your  education  will  enable  you  to  give 
your  fellow  creatures,  will  make  your  life  useful.  But 
surely,  my  daughter,  we  have  argued  all  this  out  before  2 " 

"  Yes,  father,"  she  answered ;  "  but  I  seem  to  lose 
sight  of  abstract  beauty  and  order  when  I  come  in  con- 
tact with  the  hideousness  of  starvation  and  death ;  and  I 
have  to  argue  myself  back  into  the  belief  that  there  are 
such  things  as  order  and  beauty  to  live  for." 

Mr.  Felmere  answered,  half  musing: 

"  I  can  very  well  understand  that  also,  for  I  have 
often  been  myself  almost  led  to  exclaim  against  the  in- 
congruities of  life.  But  we  know  that  these  laws  do 
exist,  and  in  order  to  be  happy  you  must  work  and  live 
up  to  them  ;  you  have  no  alternative." 

"  And  this  is  all,"  she  said,  and  rose  as  the  servant 
announced  dinner. 

"  Yes,  all"  her  father  answered,  following  her,  " but 
more  than  enough  to  fill  a  lifetime." 

"A  lifetime,"  she  thought ;  "but  a  life — would  it  fill 
that  8 " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Oh,  hush!  what  more  remains  to  me, 
But  this  dead  hand  whose  clasp  is  cold  in  mine, 
And  all  the  baffled  memory  of  the  past, 
Buried  with  him  ?     What  more  ? " 

Six  years  had  passed  since  Helen's  marriage  with 
Philip,  and  five  since  Felix  had  faded  from  her  life ;  and 
in  these  years  she  had  done  much.  Through  a  rigorous 


132  THE   FELMERES. 

and  undeviating  self-discipline  she  had  won  for  herself  a 
certain  calmness  and  strength  that  showed  in  every  move- 
ment and  expression — a  calmness  that  might  have  been 
called  coldness  but  for  the  sad  soul  lurking  deep  in  her 
eyes,  and  the  gentleness  gathered  tenderly  in  the  curving 
of  her  lips.  She  had  made  herself  much  beloved  in  the 
country  all  about  her  home,  her  name  being  with  many 
almost  a  household  word ;  and  it  was  this  love  she  gained 
and  gave  that  kept  her  heart  and  soul  warm  and  safe  from 
hopeless  torpidity — from  being  frozen  over  with  the  cold- 
ness of  her  future  and  the  bitterness  of  her  sorrows.  At 
home  she  moved  about  the  guiding  spirit ;  she  cared  for, 
thought  for,  and  provided  for  everything ;  and  in  a  nega- 
tive fashion  she  was  happy. 

In  -all  these  six  years  she  had  never  failed  in  her 
weekly  letter  to  Philip  but  once,  and  that  was  the  week 
when  Felix  went  away.  Philip's  letters  were  only  of  in- 
terest to  her  as  a  study  of  his  character,  and  it  was  the 
only  way  in  which  she  could  know  him ;  for,  according 
to  the  agreement  between  them,  he  could  not  come  back 
until  her  father's  death.  He  had  looked  eagerly,  hope- 
fully, but  vainly  in  all  her  letters  for  some  softening  of 
this  clause  in  the  contract,  some  faint  shadow  of  relent- 
ing and  invitation  to  come  again,  if  only  for  a  day.  But, 
alas !  he  never  found  it.  Her  letters  came  like  clock- 
work— always  one  length,  always  one  temperature ;  al- 
ways beginning  "Dear  Philip,"  and  always  ending 
"Very  sincerely";  never  even  dropping  to  the  more 
familiar  "My  dear  Philip,"  and  never  by  any  chance 
ending  with  "  Helen,"  but  always  the  full  stiff  "  Helen 
Felmere." 

He  was  learning  gradually  what  sort  of  nature  he 


THE   FELMERES.  133 

would  have  to  deal  with ;  and  he  was  also  learning  to 
doubt  his  ability  either  to  govern  or  guide  it.  But  .in 
proportion  as  he  recognized  this  coldness,  and  the  relent- 
less strength  of  this  beautiful  creature,  the  thought  that, 
with  all  her  pride  and  strength,  with  all  her  beauty  and 
talent,  he  had  succeeded  in  binding  her,  made  his  love 
take  fresh  root  in  his  vanity,  and  so  fascinate  him  afresh. 
He  was  sometimes  guilty  of  almost  wishing  for  his  uncle's 
death,  that  he  might  claim  her.  While  he  was  traveling 
it  did  not  make  so  much  difference ;  but  now  for  three 
years  he  had  settled  down  as  head  of  his  father's  busi- 
ness, and  he  wanted  her  at  home.  He  kept  up  with  soci- 
ety, that  he  might  at  once  place  her  in  the  front  rank ; 
he  amassed  money,  that  he  might  enable  her  to  shine 
the  more  resplendent ; .  he  entertained,  that  his  home 
might  be  a  place  where  people  would  come  often,  and 
so  spread  abroad  the  fame  of  his  wife's  beauty. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  Helen  ever  allowed  herself  to 
think  of  her  marriage  at  all  out  of  the  proper  routine 
where  it  had  its  special  place  and  time,  it  was  with  utter 
dread  of  this  day  which  she  knew  must  come.  She 
watched  with  intense  wretchedness  the  breaking  down 
of  her  father's  health — the  pitiful  decaying  of  a  strong 
man.  For  a  long  time  she  had  been  doing  all  his  writ- 
ing and  reading  for  him ;  and,  his  mind  still  continuing 
clear  and  strong,  his  inability  to  do  for  himself  was 
pathetic.  But  Helen  never  let  this  appear,  trying  to  let 
their  habits  change  almost  without  his  knowledge ;  he 
was  her  one  thought,  and  she  cared  for  him  as  a  mother 
for  her  child,  watching  closely  for  every  sign  of  a  wish 
and  trying  to  anticipate  it. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  go,"  he  said  one  evening  as  they 


134  THE  FELMERES. 

sat  together  in  the  firelight;  "I  am  so  fast  becoming 
worthless." 

Helen,  sitting  in  her  old  place  on  a  stool  at  his  side, 
laid  her  head  down  on  his  knee  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  are  my  life,  father — my  world ;  how  are  you 
worthless  ? "  she  said. 

She  felt  the  tremulous  touch  of  his  hand  on  her  hair, 
and  a  knowledge  of  desolation  swept  over  her  as  she 
thought  of  the  time  when  the  touch  of  that  hand  would 

O 

be  gone  from  her  life  for  ever !     He  answered  slowly : 

"And  this  thought — this  thought  of  your  intense 
love — haunts  me ;  and  this  certainty  of  the  suffering  you 
will  endure  gives  me  the  only  pain  I  now  feel.  Else, 
my  life  would  pass  away  calmly  and  without  a  regret." 

The  light  in  the  room  was  dim — the  light  of  his  eyes 
was  dim ;  but  a  blind  man  could  almost  have  seen  the 
glorious  beauty  of  the  face  that  looked  up  into  his, 
shining  with  the  light  of  the  last  sacrificial  fires  she  could 
build  for  him ! 

"  Father,  I  promise  not  to  grieve,"  she  said  slowly — 
"  that  is,  not  openly,  nor  yet  morbidly.  Only  tell  me 
how  it  must  be,  and  I  will  do  it — I  promise !  " 

"Are  you  strong  enough?"  he  asked,  straining  his 
eyes  to  read  her  face.  • 

"  Yes,  father ! "  and  the  voice  rang  clear  and  true  as 
when  in  her  ignorant  youth  she  had  sworn  to  stand  by 
him  for  ever ! 

"  Then,  child,  say  that  your  grief  shall  not  overwhelm 
you ;  that  you  will  make  it  your  private  sorrow,  and  not 
allow  it  to  be  a  bar  to  any  wish  of  Philip ;  that  you  will 
put  on  no  outward  sign  of  mourning,  and  never  speak  of 
what  you  suffer.  I  know  all  this  will  be  hard,  but  any 


THE  FELMERES.  135 

of  these  things  might  fret  him — men  are  so  impatient  of 
sorrow  which  they  do  not  feel.  These  precautions  may 
seem  useless,  but  I  know  men  of  the  world  better  than 
you  do,  and  I  am  so  afraid  of  standing  in  the  way  of 
your  happiness.  Will  you  promise  all  this  for  me  ? " 

"  Yes,  father,  I  will.  This  sorrow  shall  be  mine,  arid 
mine  alone,  as  it  ought  to  be ;  so  do  not  let  it  trouble 
you  any  more."  And  again  she  put  her  head  down  on 
his  knee. 

Her  happiness,  her  love,  her  life  had  all  been  put 
under  foot  for  him :  why  not  her  grief  ?  If  it  pleased 
him,  why  not  cast  this  last  luxury  aside,  and  tread  her 
path  barren  even  of  tears  ? 

Once  more  she  felt  his  soft  old  hand  wandering  about 
her  brow  and  hair  as  he  went  on  talking. 

"  You  have  been  a  good  daughter,  and  I  thank  you, 
darling — you,  who  have  been  the  one  steady  brightness 
of  my  life,  which  else  had  gone  out  in  darkness.  You 
have  never  thwarted  a  wish  or  desire  of  mine ;  you  have 
never  knowingly  given  me  a  pang ;  and  loving  me  as 
you  do,  my  child,  this  knowledge  will  be  your  reward." 

"  Ay,  more  than  a  reward,"  she  answered,  drawing 
his  hand  down  to  her  lips ;  "  for  nothing  can  ever  dim 
the  joy  of  it ! " 

'•'  I  knew  it,"  he  answered,  smiling  tenderly  to  him- 
self, "  and  so  I  told  you ;  and  when  I  am  gone,  I  believe 
you  will  carry  out  whatever  you  know  to  be  my  wishes. 
Thus  I  am  certain  your  happiness  is  secure,  for  what  I 
wish  is  entirely  for  your  good.  First  of  all,  that  you 
should  be  a  faithful  wife  to  Philip,  and  never  leave 
him " — his  voice  grew  tremulous  as  he  touched  on  the 
sorrow  of  his  life — "  never  leave  him  for  any  pique  or 


136  THE   FELMERES. 

fear,  any  anger  or  ill-treatment — for  nothing  save  his  own 
command." 

"Yes,  father." 

"  And,  child,  you  must  strive  to  be  reasonable  and 
patient  with  him  and  all  the  world.  I  tell  you  this  be- 
cause I  know  you  will  find  many  things  in  him  and  in 
the  world  that  will  provoke  you ;  but  you  must  strive  to 
b*e  tolerant  and  gentle."  He  paused  here,  then  went  on 
more  slowly :  "  And  if  in  your  life  you  should  ever  meet 
your  mother  or  your  brother,  you  must  not  feel  any  anger 
against  them  for  me ;  but  rather  pity  them  for  having 
committed  what  to  them  was  a  sin,  and  in  the  eyes  of  all 
the  world  a  wrong.  Now  I  charge  you  to  be  kind  and 
gentle  to  them  both ;  for  as  I  near  my  end,  a  feeling 
comes  over  me  that  I  should  at  least  have  made  it  my 
care  to  see  that  they  did  not  want."  His  voice  sunk,  and 
Helen  held  his  hand  more  close  as  though  to  comfort 
him. 

"  Father,  she  left  you  of  her  own  free  will,"  she  said, 
with  a  strange  feeling  coming  over  her  as  she  listened  to 
the  first  self-accusations  she  had  ever  heard  from  his  lips. 

"So  she  did,  my  darling,"  he  answered  slowly;  "but 
she  was  young  and  easily  swayed,  and  I  should  have  been 
more  patient  and  have  tried  to  win  her  back.  In  any  case, 
the  boy  was  mine,  and  I  should  have  provided  for  him. 
However,  it  is  too  late  now,  for  he  must  be  a  grown  man 
if  living.  Ah,  it  was  a  cruel  thing ! " 

His  head  drooped  as  he  finished,  and  a  silence  fell  be- 
tween them.  Helen  had  never  before  heard  him  speak 
in  this  way  of  her  mother ;  indeed,  only  once  or  twice  in 
all  her  life  had  she  ever  heard  him  so  much  as  allude  to 
her.  And  now,  what  did  it  mean?  "Were  these  his  last 


THE   FELMERES.  137 

wishes,  and  was  he  going  from  her  now  ?  She  crushed 
the  thought  down  in  her  mind  and  turned  away  from  it ; 
she  would  not  think  it.  But  still  she  found  herself  lay- 
ing all  his  words  away  in  her  heart — treasuring  every 
tone  of  his  voice,  every  nervous  break  that  came  between 
the  sentences.  He  should  not  go  ! 

Presently  he  spoke  again. 

"  My  child,  I  wish  you  would  write  to  Philip.  I  do 
not  like  leaving  you  alone." 

Had  her  heart  stopped  its  beating?  Had  the  fire 
gone  out  entirely  ?  Was  the  sea  surging  in  the  room  all 
about  her,  and  was  that  her  voice  that  answered  ?  "  Yes, 
father " — then  a  little  pause.  "  Shall  I  light  the  lamp 
and  write  now  ? "  Poor  voice !  it  sounded  very  weak 
and  very  far  away ;  and  did  the  words  her  father  uttered 
strike  her  ?  They  must,  for  with  every  one  a  sharp  pain 
shot  through  her ! 

"Yes,  this  very  night;  the  letter  must  go  in  the 
morning." 

Then  she  was  conscious  of  going  to  the  table,  lighting 
the  lamp,  and  writing.  She  knew  every  word  she  put 
down ;  she  remembered  for  all  her  life  how  every  line  of 
that  note  looked,  and  how  a  sudden  feeling  of  hatred  to 
Philip  seemed  to  cover  it  all ! 

Her  father  was  going — she  was  to  be  given  up  to 
Philip !  Ah,  if  that  note  could  only  kill  him !  And  if 
he  dared  to  come  and  share  the  last  hours  of  her  father's 
life  with  her,  she  would  shut  the  door  upon  him — he 
should  not  come  in !  He  did  not  care  for  her  father ;  for 
had  he  not  said  in  one  of  his  letters  that  he  longed  to 
claim  her,  and  did  not  that  mean  he  would  not  mourn 
her  father's  death  ?  But  the  note  must  be  written,  for 


138  THE   FELMERES. 

her  father  desired  it.  The  next  evening  Philip,  sitting 
in  his  office,  read  it  with  a  feeling  of  exultation  !  At  last 
his  time  had  come,  and  his  waiting  was  over ! 

"  DEAR  PHILIP  :  My  father  requests  that  you  will 
come  to  him.  Of  course  you  will  come  immediately. 

"  Very  sincerely, 

"HELEN  FELMEEE." 

This  was  all — only  these  few  terse  words.  No  sign 
or  shadow  of  any  wish  from  her  for  his  presence ;  not  one 
line  that  wavered — not  one  uncertain  word  or  stroke  to 
betray  the  strain  under  which  it  was  written,  the  strain 
of  bitter  sorrow  and  growing  hatred !  But  he  did  not 
look  for  any  of  these  things ;  he  cared  for  nothing  but 
that  he  had  been  sent  for.  'No  thought  crossed  him  of 
the  agony  this  old  man's  death  would  cause — of  the  fear- 
ful doubt  that  veiled  his  last  hours — of  the  woman  left 
broken  and  desolate !  He  only  remembered  that  now  he 
could  claim  what  he  so  long  had  waited  for ;  after  these 
six  long  years  he  was  to  be  rewarded. 

He  could  scarcely  wait  for  the  next  day's  express 
train.  Indeed,  if  he  had  only  had  himself  to  consult,  he 
would  not  have  waited,  but  would  have  wasted  the  next 
day  at  way  stations  on  the  route  just  to  feel  that  he  was 
traveling;  but  his  mother  showed  him  the  folly  of  such  a 
proceeding,  and  persuaded  him  to  wait. 

And  in  the  still  watches  of  that  very  night,  while  he 
lay  dreaming  of  the  happy  morrow,  and  while  she  of 
whom  he  dreamed  paced  up  and  down  her  room,  striving 
to  strangle  down  her  heart  and  its  crying  in  preparation 
for  that  morrow,  the  old  man  met  death  alone !  He  had 


THE   FELMERES.  139 

no  voice  to  cry  for  help ;  he  had  no  human  hand  to  cling 
to  ;  he  had  no  hope !  Alone  the  dread  hour  came  to  him ; 
alone  he  struggled  with  the  inevitable — alone,  and  in  the 
darkness !  If  at  the  last  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  what  lay 
beyond  the  portal  of  the  grave — if  at  the  last  he  found 
there  was  a  Hereafter — if  at  the  last  he  had  the  awful 
agony  added  to  his  own  anguish,  the  agony  of  knowing 
that  he  had  doomed  his  child's  soul  to  eternal  misery ! — 
there  was  no  one  to  hear  the  warning  in  his  moans,  or  see 
the  horror  in  his  dying  eyes !  The  secrets  of  that  death- 
bed no  mortal  ever  knew ;  for  the  darkness  tells  no  tales, 
and  the  darkness  was  the  only  watcher  there.  And  all 
night  long  the  wild  sea  moaned  and  the  night  winds 
howled  about  the  hall ;  then  the  gentle  morning  light 
stole  in  and  looked  upon  the  old  man — dead ! 

And  later  on  his  daughter  came  and  found  him  with 
the  sunlight  making  a  glory  in  his  silver  hair  !  ~No  wail 
broke  from  her,  no  sob — no  tears  shone  in  her  eyes ;  only 
an  irresistible  shuddering  as  one  in  mortal  agony — then  a 
stillness  as  of  death !  Had  she  not  promised  2  She  set 
the  house  in  order,  gave  all  directions  to  old  Peter,  then 
shut  herself  and  her  agony  in  her  far-off  room  until  Jane 
should  tell  her  all  was  finished.  Then  in  the  dear  old 
library,  where  all  spoke  of  him — where  from  child  to 
woman  she  had  lived  and  learned  with  him,  where  one 
thing  after  another  she  had  given  up  all  for  him — she 
stood  alone  with  her  dead ! 

One  last  lesson  she  would  learn  from  him,  looking 
down  on  his  calm  dead  face — one  last  lesson  of  self-con- 
trol. And  she,  learning  it,  stood  mute ! 

Once  more  she  found  herself  without  a  God  to  cry  to 
in  her  misery — without  a  comfort  in  her  desolation ! 


140  THE  FELMERES. 

There  was  no  time  hereafter  when  she  might  hope  to  be 
reunited  to  him.  For  him  there  was  only  the  grave  ;  for 
her,  only  memory!  wailing  and  weeping  would  do  no 
good ;  and  more  than  this,  had  she  not  promised  ? 

Philip,  coming  in  .almost  joyous,  found  her  thus.  She 
turned  away  at  his  first  entrance,  but  only  for  a  moment ; 
then  she  turned  and  met  him  quietly,  raised  her  face  for 
his  kiss  of  greeting,  and  led  the  way  from  the  room.  She 
could  not  allow  him  to  stay  there  with  her.  This  grief 
was  hers,  and  sacred ;  Philip  had  no  share  in  it. 

In  the  hall  she  paused  and  told  him  of  all  her  arrange- 
ments. The  next  morning  her  father  would  be  laid  in 
the  family  vault  in  Felmere  church ;  this  right  had  been 
reserved  to  the  family  for  generations,  and  no  objections 
could  be  raised  on  the  score  of  his  being  an  unbeliever. 
She  wished  no  services  at  all ;  they  meant  nothing  to  her 
nor  to  him.  As  to  the  marriage  ceremony,  she  hoped 
Philip  would  allow  no  interval  of  time  to  elapse  between 
that  and  the  funeral ;  and  afterward  she  wished  to  go 
away  immediately.  Quietly  and  methodically  she  said  it 
all,  and  Philip,  much  relieved  by  her  calmness,  assented 
gladly,  saying  he  had  brought  a  clergyman  with  him, 
and  there  was  no  reason  why  all  should  not  be  done  as 
quickly  as  possible.  Then  he  made  a  half-way  suggestion 
of  mourning.  But  Helen  answered  with  proud  quiet : 

"  It  was  my  father's  wish  that  I  should  not  show  grief 
for  his  death  in  any  outward  manner  ;  and  it  was  his  par- 
ticular request  that  neither  you  nor  your  mother  should 
alter  your  daily  lives  in  any  way  for  him.  He  was  no- 
thing to  any  one  but  me,  and  I  must  ask  you  never  to 
mention  his  name  to  me.  I  need  no  sympathy,  nor  any 
outlet  for  my  sorrow." 


THE   FELMERES. 

Better  silence  him  at  once,  she  thought ;  for  he  had 
not  that  in  him  that  could  comprehend  her  sufferings, 
and  his  attempts  at  comfort  would  only  torture  her. 

And  Philip  did  not  object,  for  he  felt  no  positive  sor- 
row and  had  no  real  sympathy  to  offer. 

So  the  next  morning  the  dead  man  was  carried  to 
his  grave — the  grave  of  all  the  Felmeres!  The  door 
of  the  vault  grated  harshly,  and  swung  heavily  on  its 
hinges ;  for  it  had  not  been  opened  since  he,  young  Hec- 
tor Felmere,  saw  his  father  laid  there.  Silently  they  put 
him  down,  and  Helen,  ere  the  door  was  closed,  stepped 
in  to  lay  one  flower  on  his  coffin.  One  moment  she 
paused  and  looked  about  her  to  the  right  and  left  where 
her  ancestors  lay.  Some  day  they  would  bring  her  there 
— ah,  very  soon,  she  hoped ! 

She  turned  to  come  away — to  leave  her  father  for 
ever !  The  rush  of  this  thought  almost  shook  her  from 
her  calm.  One  moment  she  steadied  herself  with  one 
hand  on  his  coffin — one  moment,  that  was  all ;  then  she 
rejoined  the  watchers  outside.  The  door  was  closed  and 
locked,  and  all  was  done  !  No  prayers  for  the  soul  de- 
parted— no  words  of  comfort  for  the  soul  left  desolate  ; 
all  was  cold,  dreary,  hopeless ! 

Then  came  the  marriage  ceremony.  Only  some  of 
her  village  friends  were  there,  who  wept,  poor  simple  souls, 
to  see  her  "  go  to  be  wed,  with  the  dust  of  the  grave  still 
unshaken  from  her  white  dress !  "  Alas,  what  mattered 
it  to  her?  "Was  not  the  dust  from  that  tomb  spread 
henceforth  all  along  her  path,  deadening  all  the  sounds 
of  life  and  joy  that  might  happen  there  ?  What  was  a 
simple  smirch  or  two  on  her  wedding  dress  ?  She  went 
through  the  service  mechanically,  but  did  not  kneel  for 


THE   FELMERES. 

either  prayers  or  blessing :  she  did  not  believe.  When 
that  was  done,  the  worst  was  over,  for  the  parting  with 
Peter  and  Jane,  and  the  last  look  at  her  home,  weighed 
as  nothing  with  what  had  gone  before  ! 

"  Jane,"  she  said  as  the  old  woman  clung  about  her, 
"  keep  everything  just  as  I  leave  it.  You  and  Peter  will 
be  supported  here  as  usual,  but  let  nothing  be  changed. 
I  will  come  again  some  day,  and  all  things  must  be  as  I 
leave  them."  Then  she  kissed  the  old  woman,  with  a 
long,  loving  kiss — her  last  farewell  at  Felmere — and  was 
gone.  Gone  out  into  a  life  and  a  world  she  dreaded — 
gone,  guarded  only  by  her  own  strength  and  a  promise  to 
a  dead  man ! 


"  Thousands  of  human  generations,  all  as  noisy  as  our  own, 
have  been  swallowed  up  of  Time,  and  there  remains  no  wreck  of 
them  any  more ;  and  Arcturus  and  Orion  and  Sirius  and  Pleiades 
are  still  shining  in  their  courses,  clear  and  young,  as  when  the 
Shepherd  first  noted  them  in  the  plain  of  Shinar.  Pshaw !  what  is 
this  paltry  little  Dog-cage  of  an  Earth ;  what  art  thou  that  sittest 
whining  there  ?  Thou  art  still  Nothing,  Nobody  :  true ;  but  who 
then  is  Something,  Somebody  ?  For  thee  the  Family  of  Man  has 
no  use ;  it  rejects  thee ;  thou  art  wholly  as  a  dissevered  limb  :  so 
be  it ;  perhaps  it  is  better  so !  " 


PART   SECOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  And  the  days  darken  round  me,  and  the  years, 
Among  new  men,  strange  faces,  other  minds." 

MRS.  FELMEKE,  Philip's  mother,  was  certainly  in  her 
element ;  for  there  was  nothing  she  liked  better  than  the 
bustle  and  confusion  and  excitement  consequent  on  the 
arrangements  for  a  gay  winter,  and  of  all  her  gay  winters 
this  was  to  be  the  gayest. 

The  Jourdans  were  all  curiosity  to  see  Philip's  wife, 
and  had  been  much  disappointed  that  he  had  not  brought 
her  home  immediately  after  her  father's  death,  instead 
of  taking  her  to  travel.  But  Mrs.  Felmere  nodded  wise- 
ly ;  said  it  was  her  arrangement  that  they  should  spend 
the  months  of  mourning  in  travel :  she  preferred  that 
Helen  should  make  her  appearance  all  at  once,  and  not 
creep  into  society  as  she  would  have  to  do  if  she  came  to 
town  while  in  mourning.  Then  she  would  go  off  into 
descriptions  of  Helen's  extraordinary  beauty  and  talents, 
and  into  discussions  of  large  plans  for  the  winter's  cam- 
paign, and  for  the  reception  of  the  young  people.  Evi- 
dently she  expected  much  increase  in  importance  from 
7 


14:6  THE  FELMERES. 

the  possession  of  this  beautiful  daughter-in-law  ;  and  the 
Jourdaiis  waited  with  doubtful  pleasure  and  questionable 
curiosity  to  see  this  wonder. 

"  If  she  was  such  a  marvel,  how  had  Philip  managed 
to  catch  her?"  So  they  whispered  to  each  other,  but 
only  whispered  ;  for  the  Jourdan  family  stood  rather  in 
awe  of  their  strong-minded  sister  Mrs.  Felmere. 

And  all  the  while  she  wrote  her  son  the  most  minute 
descriptions  and  directions  on  the  subject  of  Helen's 
trousseau,  which  he  was  to  buy  in  Paris,  and  begged 
Helen  to  be  careful  in  suiting  her  style  of  beauty.  Helen 
would  read  the  letters  in  the  most  dutiful  manner,  but 
could  not  remember  them ;  so  she  let  Philip  do  as  he 
pleased,  and  buy  whatsoever  seemed  good  in  his  sight. 
She  only  hoped  she  would  be  able  to  keep  her  temper 
and  be  patient  under  the  host  of  trifling  annoyances  she 
saw  ahead  of  her.  She  was  a  little  curious  as  to  society, 
yet  feared  much  that  she  would  not  like  it ;  in  which  case 
she  would  still  be  obliged  to  go  out  into  it.  She  carefully 
pondered  all  the  advice  her  father  had  given  her ;  tried 
to  look  hopefully  out  to  her  future ;  then  tried  to  be 
philosophical  over  the  failure  and  fruitlessness  of  her 
efforts,  and  bent  her  will  to  crush  out  the  undercurrent 
of  thought  that  made  her  wonder  if  in  her  husband's 
circle  of  friends  she  would  meet  Felix  Gordon. 

So  all  the  long  bright  summer  was  spent  in  going 
from  place  to  place — places  she  had  longed  all  her  life  to 
see — places  that  she  now  looked  on  and  walked  through 
with  quiet  apathy.  More  than  this,  she  seemed  uncon- 
scious of  the  devotion  Philip  lavished  on  her.  Philip 
was  good  to  her,  and  she  thanked  him,  but  did  not  in  any 
way  seem  to  realize  his  admiration.  And  Philip,  watch- 


THE   FELMERES.  14T 

ing  her,  began  to  wonder  when  this  cold  calm  would 
wear  off.  At  first,  after  her  father's  death,  when  he  met 
her  down  at  Felmere,  it  had  been  a  pleasant  surprise  to 
him ;  for  he  had  expected  and  feared  tears  and  wailings, 
and,  not  finding  them,  was  agreeably  disappointed,  and 
was  thankful  that  his  wife  knew  what  self-control  meant. 
But  now  he  thought  it  time  for  her  to  have  overcome  her 
grief  enough  to  look  at  him,  and  treat  him  in  some  other 
way  than  she  had  done  heretofore.  Her  scrupulous 
politeness  was  wearying  to  him;  and  although  as  Mrs. 
Philip  Felmere  her  every  action  was  worthy  of  all  admi- 
ration, yet  he  also  was  worthy  of  some  consideration. 
But  she  did  not  seem  to  agree  with  him,  and,  although 
he  left  no  means  untried,  he  had  to  give  up  at  last,  and 
only  hope  that  the  settling  in  her  new  home  and  among 
new  people  might  rouse  her. 

When  the  winter  found  them  with  their  faces  turned 
homeward,  he  was  hoping  much  from  the  change — she 
dreading  it,  and  more  than  all  the  long  after-life  with  her 
aunt.  In  all  her  life  she  never  felt  more  desperate  than 
when  she  stood  in  the  doorway  of  her  future  home,  with 
her  future  full  before  her. 

The  meeting  between  mother  and  son  was  ecstatic  but 
short ;  then  Philip  turned  :  "  Mother,  here  is  Helen "  ; 
and  Mrs.  Felmere  came  with  open  arms  to  the  stately 
young  woman  who  had  kept  herself  rather  in  the  back- 
ground. As  it  was,  her  arms  closed  round  a  mass  of  silk 
and  furs,  and  she  had  to  wait  until  the  owner  of  them 
chose  to  bend  her  head  and  receive  the  proffered  kiss. 
But  Mrs.  Felmere  was  not  to  be  daunted ;  and  as  she  led 
them  to  their  apartments,  she  gushed  on  irrepressibly. 

"  Some  of  her  family  were  to  dine  with  them  that 


148  THE  FELMERES. 

day,"  she  explained,  "  to  meet  dear  Helen,  so  that  dear 
Helen  must  have  as  much  time  as  possible  in  which  to 
rest  and  dress  before  the  appointed  hour." 

"  Dear  Helen  "  looked  and  listened,  and  the  mother- 
in-law  grew  restless  under  the  grave  quiet  of  the 
daughter,  and  left  the  room  a  little  anxious.  What  it 
was  Mrs.  Felmere  could  not  say,  but  there  was  something 
very  trying  in  this  young  person's  manners  ;  it  was  worse 
than  trying — it  was  actually  exasperating ! 

Philip  followed  his  mother  down  stairs ;  and  Helen, 
glad  to  be  alone,  yet  with  nothing  to  do,  stood  near  the 
window  and  looked  down  thoughtfully  on  the  people  and 
vehicles  that  passed  so  ceaselessly  to  and  fro. 

Her  musings  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the 
men  bringing  in  the  luggage. 

"  How  stupid,"  she  thought,  "  to  have  such  a  quan- 
tity ;  and  at  the  best,  what  extremely  frivolous  things 
fine  clothes  are ! "  And  she  was  almost  impatient  with 
the  maid  who  came  to  ask.  what  she  would  wear  for 
dinner.  "  Anything  you  please,"  she  answered ;  "  I  do 
not  in  the  least  care."  So  the  woman  with  ready  tact 
chose  a  dress  she  had  heard  Mr.  Felmere  praise :  it  was 
wise  to  please  some  one. 

The  party  assembled  in  Mrs.  Felmere' s  drawing-room 
was  made  up  entirely  of  the  immediate  Jourdan  family. 
There  were  Mr.  John  Jourdan,  banker,  and  Margaret  his 
wife ;  his  son,  young  John  Jourdan,  commonly  known  as 
Jack;  and  his  daughter  Amelia.  Besides  these,  who 
were  known  as  the  "  John  Jourdans,"  there  was  the  old- 
maid  aunt  of  the  family,  Miss  Esther  Jourdan,  who  was 
also  the  terror,  keeping  her  connection  well  in  hand  with 
the  lash  of  an  unmade  will.  The  only  member  of  the 


THE  FELMERES.  149 

whole  family  who  did  not  bow  to  her  rule  was  her  young 
brother,  Arthur  Jourdan,  who  now  leaned  on  the  mantel 
watching  with  skeptical  eyes  for  the  advent  of  Philip's 
wife.  They  were  all  rich  and  moderately  well  educated, 
these  Jourdans,  with  good  complexions,  sound  teeth,  and 
strong  digestions — a  fair-haired,  sturdy  race,  with  neither 
souls  nor  livers. 

Helen  was  introduced  by  Mrs.  Felmere  to  each  one 
separately :  "  This  is  your  uncle  John,  my  dear,  and  your 
aunt  Margaret.  This  is  Aunt  Esther,  and  this  Uncle 
Arthur ;  but  he  is  so  little  older  than  Philip  that  you 
may  call  him  Arthur.  This  is  Jack,  and,  last  but  not 
least,  Amelia,  my  namesake  and  goddaughter,  of  whom 
I  hope  you  will  make  a  friend." 

Philip  watched  a  little  anxiously  as  the  ceremony 
proceeded,  he  was  so  much  afraid  that  Helen  might  in 
some  way  offend  them ;  for  she  was  so  very  different, 
and  at  times  so  strangely  abrupt  and  peculiar,  not  to  say 
eccentric.  But  he  need  not  have  feared ;  it  all  went  off 
quietly  enough ;  she  distinctly  repeated  all  their  names 
and  prefixes  after  Mrs.  Felmere,  and  kissed  them  all 
most  dutifully. 

There  was  only  one  little  pause.  When  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere explained  about  Arthur's  age,  Helen  asked  him 
gravely  which  he  preferred,  "  Arthur "  or  "  Uncle 
Arthur " ;  and  he  answered,  "  It  is  as  you  please, 
Helen."  She  said  quietly,  "  I  have  no  pleasure  in  the 
matter,"  and  turned  to  Jack.  Miss  Esther  smiled  to  see 
Arthur  snubbed,  for  it  was  such  a  rare  occurrence  ;  but 
Mrs.  Felmere  looked  grave  and  frowned  very  slightly. 

The  dinner  passed  off  very  successfully ;  for  Helen, 
seated  between  old  and  young  John,  was  much  amused 


150  THE  FELMERES. 

by  young  John's  hearty  boyishness  and  old  John's  honest 
admiration.  There  was  something  contagions  in  the 
merry  flow  of  Jack's  spirits,  and  she  found  herself  chat- 
ting and  laughing  in  a  way  that  "was  quite  unusual  for 
her.  Philip  bloomed  out  under  this,  and  Mrs.  Felmere 
was  in  her  glory. 

Arthur  watched  Helen  with  growing  admiration  ;  she 
was  surely  the  most  beautiful  creature  he  had  ever  seen  ; 
he  must  certainly  make  his  peace  with  her. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  to  a  ball  ? "  Jack  was  asking. 

"  Never  in  all  my  life,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  to-morrow  night  will  be  your  first ;  how 
queer ! "  he  went  on. 

"  Am  I  to  go  to  one  to-morrow  night  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  have  you  not  heard  ?  Aunt  Amelia  has  not 
told  you  ? " 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered  from  the  end  of  the 
table ;  "  I  thought  to-morrow  would  do  as  well." 

Jack  nodded.  "  Then  I  will  tell  her  now  "  ;  and  he 
went  off  into  a  description  of  a  grand  party  to  be  given 
at  his  father's  house  in  honor  of  Philip  and  Helen. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Helen  answered,  "and  I  hope 
I  shall  like  it ;  but  I  do  not  know  how  to  dance." 

The  whole  company  looked  aghast — not  know  how  to 
dance ! 

"  What  have  you  been  thinking  of,  Philip  ? "  Jack 
asked  reproachfully. 

"  We  have  not  been  going  out,  you  know,"  Philip 
answered  with  mysterious  solemnity. 

Then  a  little  pause  fell  on  the  company,  and  the  hot 
blood  rushed  angrily  to  Helen's  cheeks.  How  dared 
Philip  allude  to  her  father  in  this  strange  company,  or 


THE   FELMERES.  151 

allude  to  him  at  all !     She  paused  a  moment  to  steady  her 
voice,  then  said  coldly : 

"  We  might  have  gone,  Philip,  if  you  had  said  so,  for 
there  was  nothing  to  hinder  us." 

This  was  a  little  more  shocking  than  her  not  knowing 
how  to  dance.  Such  plain  speaking  was  not  usual  in  the 
world.  Philip's  excuse  was  very  proper;  why  not  let  it 
alone  ?  And  it  remained  for  Arthur  to  break  the  silence 
that  ensued. 

"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  teach  you  how  to 
dance,"  he  said  quietly. 

Helen  looked  up  quickly  and  gratefully  for  this  inter- 
ruption to  her  angry  thoughts.  "  Indeed,  you  are  very 
kind,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  shall  do  my  best  to  learn." 

" It  is  a  very  easy  matter,"  Arthur  went  on,  "if  one 
has  any  ear  for  music,  which  you  no  doubt  have." 

"  I  can  not  say,"  Helen  answered,  shaking  her  head  ; 
"  I  have  never  taken  a  music  lesson  in  my  life." 

"  She  was  educated  entirely  by  her  father,"  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere  put  in  quickly,  seeing  a  little  sneer  on  Miss  Esther's 
lips. 

Helen  looked  around  from  one  to  the  other  with  a 
shade  of  wonder  in  her  eyes,  then  said  a  little  proudly : 

"  I  have  no  accomplishments  at  all,  save  perhaps  paint- 
ing ;  I  can  do  something  at  that." 

"  And  one  accomplishment  is  quite  enough  if  you  do 
that  one  well,"  Arthur  said  quietly. 

"  Yes,"  Helen  answered  slowly,  as  though  considering 
and  concluding  on  her  deliberations — "yes,  I  do  paint 
well." 

"  That  is  honest  at  least,"  Miss  Esther  remarked,  with 
a  trifle  of  sarcasm  in  her  tone.  She  had  been  panting  for 


152  THE  FELMERES. 

an  opportunity  to  snub  this  new-comer  into  a  proper  ap- 
preciation of  her  special  merits. 

Helen  looked  up  surprised. 

"  And  is  not  honesty  a  desirable  quality  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Very  desirable,"  Miss  Esther  answered,  with  a  little 
toss  of  her  head,  "if  there  is  a  trifle  of  modesty  mixed 
with  it." 

"  There  are  such  things  as  false  modesty  and  affecta- 
tion," Helen  went  on  quietly,  to  the  great  amusement  of 
the  family,  who  never  by  any  chance  answered  Miss 
Esther ;  "  and  I  despise  both.  If  I  think  I  paint  well, 
why  not  say  so  ? " 

"  Would  it  not  be  just  as  well  to  wait  and  let  others 
say  so  ? "  Miss  Esther's  ire  was  rising. 

"  Others  might  not  think  so,"  Helen  replied,  and  a 
general  laugh  followed  her  speech. 

"  You  do  not  mind  over-estimating  yourself  then  ? " 
Miss  Esther  asked. 

"  If  it  is  my  honest  opinion  of  myself,  then  to  myself 
I  am  not  over-estimated  ;  and  if  I  am  satisfied  with  my- 
self, what  are  the  opinions  of  others  to  me  ?  Indeed, 
they  do  not  disturb  me  for  one  instant."  She  was  look- 
ing at  the  old  lady  gravely,  and  listened  most  attentively 
to  her  answer. 

"  There  are  some  people  who  are  humble  enough  to 
think  that  there  are  others  a  little  wiser  than  themselves, 
and  with  sometimes  a  little  better  taste  and  judgment." 

"  If  one  is  confessedly  inferior,"  Helen  answered,  "  it 
would  be  wiser,  perhaps,  to  ask  the  opinion  of  all  before 
deciding  for  one's  self ;  but  I  think  it  is  much  happier  to 
be  honestly  aware  of  your  own  powers,  and  honestly  self- 
confident." 


THE   FELMERES.  153 

To  Helen  the  conversation  had  now  become  an  abstract 
argument,  and  as  such  she  pursued  it.  Miss  Esther,  how- 
ever, not  having  been  trained  to  this  sort  of  exercise,  after 
the  manner  of  most  women,  continued  personal,  and  an- 
swered bitingly : 

"  In  short,  be  conceited." 

"  JSTo,"  Helen  said  gravely ;  "that  is  one  step  too  far ; 
that  amounts  to  self-admiration,  while  what  I  mean  is 
simply  self-approval.  The  one  is  putting  yourself  above 
and  beyond  your  fellow  creatures ;  the  other  is  only  put- 
ting yourself  on  a  level  with  them." 

"  And  you  consider  yourself  on  a  level  with  the  high- 
est?" queried  Miss  Esther.  Helen  laughed  as  she  an- 
swered : 

"  I  could  not  answer  that  question,  Aunt  Esther,  until 
I  had  met  and  estimated  all  the  people  in  the  world." 

"  Of  course  you  know  I  mean  the  highest  you  have 
met,"  Miss  Esther  snapped. 

Helen  smiled. 

"  With  one  or  two  exceptions  known  long  ago,  yes." 

"  Bravo ! "  cried  old  Mr.  Jourdan ;  and  the  young 
men  were  quite  delighted  to  find  some  one  who  dared  to 
contend  with  Miss  Esther.  Mrs.  Felmere  and  Mrs.  Jour- 
dan,  however,  felt  anxious  as  they  looked  at  Miss  Esther's 
angry  face  and  remembered  her  fortune  and  unmade  will ; 
so  they  strove  to  mend  matters  by  making  a  movement 
to  leave  the  table. 

That  night,  after  all  were  gone,  Mrs.  Felmere  called 
her  son  aside  and  told  him  he  must  speak  to  Helen,  and 
warn  her  of  the  danger  of  making  Miss  Esther  angry. 
Philip  looked  doubtful,  and  after  pondering  for  a  few 
moments  said  with  a  deep  sigh : 


154:  THE  FELMERES. 

"  We  had  better  say  nothing  about  it,  mother.  Helen 
is  very  peculiar  about  some  things,  and  I  know  that  about 
this  she  will  think  differently  and  will  probably  say  so. 
More  than  this,  I  am  quite  sure  she  will  not  heed  me." 

Mrs.  Felmere  looked  amazed,  then  angrily  scornful  as 
she  said  sharply : 

"  I  would  be  ashamed  to  acknowledge  that,  Philip ; 
and  since  you  are  afraid,  I  will  speak  to  her  myself." 

"As  you  please,"  Philip  answered,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  driving  his  hands  deeper  into  his  pockets; 
"  but  you  will  find  I  am  right." 

And  Mrs.  Felmere  without  answering  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Ah,  me !  the  clinging  touch  of  those  days — those  days  so  utterly 

dead! 

The  ringing  sadness  of  last  farewells — farewells  so  quietly  said  ; 
The  falling  shadows  of  lonelier  times,  dark  days  in  the  midst  of 

strife ; 
The  longing  for  peace,  and  faith,  and  love  that  were  ours  in  that 

old  life." 

FOE  the  first  time  since  their  marriage,  Helen  missed 
Philip  when  on  the  morning  after  their  arrival  he  went 
to  his  office  ;  indeed,  she  more  than  missed  him,  she  felt 
deserted  and  almost  in  danger,  being  left  alone  with  Mrs. 
Felmere.  That  a  collision  between  them  was  inevitable, 
and  that  her  hours  of  peace  were  numbered,  were  two 
facts  of  which  she  was  sure.  She  could  only  hope  that 
the  shock  would  be  a  slight  one,  enough  to  show  each  of 


THE  FELMERES.  155 

them  the  position  the  other  intended  to  occupy,  yet  not 
enough  to  make  a  decided  break.  It  was  a  disagreeable 
thought  and  expectation,  but  there  was  no  use  in  trying 
to  escape  from  it,  for  it  must  finally  be  faced.  She  had 
feared  many  years  ago  that  this  would  be  so ;  but  now 
that  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Felmere,  her  surmises  had  ripened 
into  knowledge. 

So  she  pondered  as  she  stood  in  the  front  drawing- 
room,  looking  over  a  photographic  album  filled  with 
meaningless  faces  which,  fortunately  or  unfortunately 
for  herself,  she  did  not  see.  She  was  very  home-sick  for 
old  Felmere — for  Peter  and  Jane — for  anything  simple 
and  natural.  She  had  been  so  shut  up  in  cities  and 
hotels,  had  so  stupidly  followed  the  beaten  fashionable 
track  in  traveling,  had  been  so  tied  down  to  convention- 
alities and  non-essentials,  that  she  longed  for  the  broad 
clear  flats,  and  the  wild  fresh  wind  that  dashed  about 
the  hall  down  at  Felmere.  And  now  that  she  was  at 
home,  she  looked  about  her  and  wondered  if  in  all  the 
world  there  was  anything  more  dreary  and  unhomelike 
than  these  grand  parlors — teeming  with  silk  and  velvet 
and  gold,  yet  with  the  rug  in  front  of  the  sham  fireplace 
turned  wrong  side  up !  It  was  a  little  thing,  yet  to  her 
it  spoke  volumes.  Then,  in  irresistible  contrast  to  this 
brand-new  affair  too  handsome  to  be  used,  there  came  to 
her  memory  the  old  worn  rug  in  the  library  at  Felmere — 
worn  almost  white  at  the  corner  where  her  father  used  to 
sit;  burnt  in  innumerable  little  black  spots  where  the 
sparks  from  the  open  fire  would  fall ;  and  persistently 
rolling  itself  up  at  the  four  corners.  Ah,  how  pathetic 
was  the  picture  of  that  old  Felmere  rug,  and  to  her  how 
beautiful ! 


156  THE  FELMERES. 

But  this  was  dangerous  ground,  and  she  hastily  turned 
her  eyes  and  mind  to  other  things.  She  looked  curiously 
at  the  miserable  little  gas  fire,  entirely  for  show  ;  and  at 
the  awful  holes  in  the  walls,  so  black  and  unlovely,  where 
the  real  heat  came  in  :  could  anything  be  more  dismal, 
except  perhaps  the  album  before  her?  And,  turning 
over  the  leaves,  she  wondered  vaguely  what  could  have 
been  in  the  minds  of  the  originals  of  the  pictures  when 
they  allowed  themselves  to  be  so  represented.  Did  they 
for  one  moment  imagine  that  people  seeing  these  would 
consider  them  correct  likenesses ;  that  any  one  would  be 
deceived  into  thinking  they  always  had  their  hair  arranged 
so  wonderfully,  or  their  heads  in  these  painfully  graceful 
positions,  or  these  sweet  smiles  always  on  their  lips? 
But  they,  perhaps,  had  been  brought  up  in  just  such  a 
home  as  this,  where  on  all  sides  they  were  trained  to  and 
surrounded  by  shams ;  and  how  could  anything  different 
be  expected  from  such  an  education  ?  Alas,  how  utterly 
small  it  all  was ! 

As  she  reached  this  point  in  her  reflections  the  door 
was  opened,  and  Mrs.  Felmere  joined  her.  Helen  looked 
up  as  her  aunt  advanced,  and  wondered  a  little  at  her 
grave  looks ;  but,  not  liking  to  ask  the  cause,  she  went 
on  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  album  after  an  idle 
uninterested  fashion. 

Mrs.  Felmere  watched  her  a  moment  in  silence,  then 
said  slowly :  "  Helen,  I  have  come  to  have  a  few  mo- 
ments' talk  with  you.  I  wish  to  take  a  mother's  privi- 
lege and  give  you  a  little  advice ;  may  I  ? " 

Helen  looked  up  gravely,  and  for  a  moment  scanned 
Mrs.  Felmere' s  face ;  then  she  looked  down  again,  answer- 
ing quietly : 


THE  FELMERES.  157 

"  Certainly,  aunt,  if  you  wish." 

The  permission  was  not  very  encouraging ;  neverthe- 
less, Mrs.  Felmere  went  on. 

"  I  only  wish  to  say,  my  dear,"  she  began,  "  that  it  is 
utterly  useless  ever  to  argue  with  my  sister  Esther,  and 
it  is  much  wiser  not  to  anger  her — wiser  for  many  rea- 
sons. She  is  getting  old,  and  perhaps  a  little  peevish ; 
but  through  all  she  is  very  fond  of  Philip,  and  I  should 
like  her  to  be  fond  of  you  as  his  wife." 

Helen  assented;  and  Mrs.  Felmere,  seeing  her  so 
quiet  under  her  little  lecture,  put  Philip  down  as  a  goose 
for  his  fears,  and  warmed  to  her  subject. 

"  Her  health  is  not  good,"  she  continued,  and  at  her 
words  Helen  felt  a  little  contrition  for  having  provoked 
an  old  sick  person ;  "  and  as  she  is  very  wealthy,  we, 
Margaret  and  myself  and  Philip  " — Helen  looked  up  with 
a  gleam  of  surprise  in  her  eyes — "  feel  a  little  anxiety 
about  her  will ;  for  she  is  entirely  untrammeled,  and  can 
leave  her  money  where  she  pleases." 

"And  Philip  wants  her  money  ?"  Helen  asked  slow- 
ly, as  Mrs.  Felmere  paused. 

"  Yes,  of  course ! "  she  answered  quickly  and  sharply, 
being  made  impatient  by  the  tinge  of  scorn  in  the  girl's 
voice  and  the  contempt  she  saw  gathering  about  her  lips ; 
"  of  course  he  wishes  it.  Money  is  not  to  be  picked  up 
in  the  streets,  and  every  sensible  man  will  and  ought  to 
take  all  he  can  honestly  get.  Philip  has  a  right  to  hope 
for  a  more  prominent  place  in  Esther's  will  than  any  of 
the  family,  unless,  indeed,  you  spoil  all  by  angering  her." 

Helen  did  not  look  up.  She  felt  ashamed  to  face  any 
one  who  could  acknowledge  such  motives — ashamed  for 
them ;  and  she  answered  almost  sadly  : 


158  THE  FELMERES. 

"  I  had  better  avoid  her  then." 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Felmere ;  "  that  would  be  worse 
still ;  that  would  be  neglect,  and  it  would  never  do  ! " 

"  Then  will  you  tell  me  what  I  must  do  ?  for  I  must 
confess  to  being  almost  at  a  loss  to  understand  you." 
Helen  began  to  be  restive,  and  her  voice  had  an  impatient 
ring  in  it  as  she  strove  to  control  her  desire  to  vent  her 
honest  scorn  of  this  groveling  after  money. 

"  You  must  be  kind  and  attentive  to  her,  as  you  should 
be  to  all  old  people,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered  instruc- 
tively ;  "  be  patient  with  all  her  little  tempers,  and  seem 
pleased  with  her  little  jokes.  To  an  amiable  person  it 
is  a  very  simple  process ;  Amelia  does  it  admirably." 

"  I  have  never  tried  to  act  anything  in  all  my  life," 
Helen  answered  slowly,  as  her  aunt  ceased  speaking,  "  and 
I  am  afraid  I  am  not  an  amiable  person.  I  beg  you  will 
let  me  avoid  her."  There  was  a  moment's  pause ;  then 
she  added  sharply  and  quickly,  "  As  for  her  money,  I 
abhor  it ! " 

Mrs.  Felmere  raised  her  head  in  angry  astonishment, 
and  the  color  in  her  cheeks  deepened  swiftly. 

"  That  is  foolish,"  she  said  in  a  stinging  voice  ;  "  and  if 
you  do  not  wish  the  money,  you  can  at  least  be  unselfish 
enough  not  to  ruin  Philip's  prospects." 

Helen  shook  her  head.  "  I  can  not  think  Philip  wishes 
for  Aunt  Esther's  money  to  this  extent.  If  he  does  " — 
she  paused,  and  in  the  pause  Mrs.  Felmere  watched  her 
closely — "  if  he  does,  I  can  not  stoop  to  any  such  means 
to  aid  him  in  getting  it." 

Mrs.  Felmere  grew  angrily  white  as  she  listened  to 
this  quiet  opposition,  and  her  voice  shook  audibly  as  she 
answered : 


THE   FELMERES.  159 

"  And  Philip  shall  get  it  without  your  help !  and  if 
you  prefer  making  enemies  for  yourself  in  place  of  friends, 
I  can  not  help  you.  But,  thank  God,  I  am  still  here  to 
see  to  the  interests  of  my  son ! " 

Helen  turned  away,  sorry  that  the  breach  made  was  of 
such  width ;  she  had  tried  through  it  all  to  be  tolerant, 
but  she  had  not  succeeded  in  even  keeping  the  peace. 
She  must  now  make  an  effort  to  mend  things,  and  turn- 
ing at  the  door  she  said  apologetically : 

"  I  will  ask  Philip,  aunt,  and  what  he  wishes  I  will 
try  to  do.  I  am  sorry  I  have  displeased  you." 

But  Mrs.  Felmere  answered  coldly : 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence ;  whatever  is  necessary  I  can 
do  myself  as  heretofore.  I  am  sorry  I  troubled  you  at 
all.  Philip  advised  that  nothing  be  said  to  you  about  it ; 
I  now  see  he  was  right." 

Helen  closed  the  door  slowly,  and  turned  away  ponder- 
ing deeply.  So  Philip  did  want  this  money  to  this  sordid 
extent,  and  was  ashamed  that  she  should  know  it ! 

She  had  readied  her  room,  and  stood  looking  out  of 
the  window  into  the  street.  She  did  not  wish  to  think 
any  further  on  the  subject  of  the  morning's  discussion. 
It  was  a  pity  it  had  ever  come  up,  and  to  change  the  cur- 
rent of  her  mind  she  began  in  childish  fashion  to  count  the 
different  kinds  of  carriages  that  passed.  Suddenly  she 
stopped :  this  was  very  weak ;  it  was  silly  and  cowardly 
to  turn  away  from  realizing  facts ;  why  not  at  once  look 
them  in  the  face,  and  weigh  them  for  what  they  were 
worth?  This  morning  she  had  found  out  that  Philip 
loved  money  more  than  she  had  supposed ;  that  he  would 
stoop  to  what  she  considered  deceit  to  get  it ;  that  he  laid 
his  plans  with  his  mother  without  consulting  her — she 


160  THE  FELMERES. 

was  of  no  consequence !  This  last  thought  she  put  on  one 
side :  it  was  not  because  she  was  of  no  consequence  that 
she  was  not  consulted,  but  because  Philip  knew  she 
would  not  aid  in  any  such  scheme.  She  was  glad  of  this 
— glad  that  he  knew  her  opinions  on  such  matters  well 
enough  not  to  put  her  in  the  disagreeable  position  of 
giving  them.  Then  a  sort  of  despair  crept  over  her  as 
she  brought  home  to  herself  the  facts  that  these  were  the 
people  she  had  to  live  with,  and  that  this  man  was  her 
husband ! 

She  walked  from  one  window  to  the  other  under  the 
"pressure  of  this  thought,  and  stood  looking  down  into  the 
side  street.  What  a  close  horrid  place  a  city  was !  and 
what  had  become  of  her  "  philosophic  calm  "  ? 

Her  father  was  right :  to  be  at  peace  one  must  rise 
above  the  littlenesses  of  every-day  life ;  for  they  seemed  to 
be  more  trying  to  one's  philosophy  than  the  greater  trials 
of  life — or  rather,  those  things  that  were  deemed  the 
greater  trials.  If  the  happiness  of  Philip  and  his  mother 
lay  in  the  attainment  of  this  money,  she  had  no  right  to 
put  difficulties  in  the  way ;  the  more  so  as  she  believed 
that  happiness  was  the  one  end  in  life. 

And  it  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  that  she  went  down 
to  lunch. 

Mrs.  Felmere  was  a  little  stiff  in  her  greeting ;  but 
as  the  time  went  on  she  talked  politely  of  the  round  of 
entertainments  prepared  for  Helen,  of  the  habits  and 
hours  of  the  household,  and  ended  by  asking  if  the  last 
quite  suited  her. 

"  Philip,"  she  said,  "  never  comes  home  until  dinner. 
He  might  perhaps  alter  this  habit  if  you  wished  it ;  but  I 
have  never  urged  it,  as  it  seemed  to  suit  both  his  father 


THE  FELMERES.  161 

and  himself  to  take  their  lunch  down  town.  The  office 
is  such  a  journey  from  this  place." 

"  I  hope  neither  you  nor  Philip  will  change  anything 
on  my  account,"  Helen  answered.  "  It  is  entirely  imma- 
terial to  me  how  the  day  is  divided.  My  only  tastes  are 
painting  and  reading,  and  they  can  fit  in  anywhere." 

Mrs.  Felmere  bowed,  then  looked  up ;  for  the  door 
had  opened,  giving  entrance  to  Arthur  Jourdan.  The 
interruption  was  a  pleasant  one  to  both  the  ladies,  and  in 
consequence  his  welcome  was  warm.  He  joined  them  in 
a  glass  of  wine,  and  while  drinking  it  told  them  he  had 
come  to  try  and  teach  Helen  something  about  dancing 
before  the  ball  that  evening. 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,"  Helen  answered,  feeling 
really  grateful  to  him,  "  and  you  are  very  kind  to  have 
thought  of  it." 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  me,"  Arthur  answered  kindly ; 
"  and  now  if  Amelia  will  play  for  us — will  you  ? "  turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Felmere. 

"  Yes,  whenever  you  are  ready." . 

It  was  certainly  very  amiable  in  Arthur,  Helen 
thought,  to  take  so  much  trouble  for  her  pleasure ;  and 
she  wondered  if  she  would  be  able  to  learn — she  feared 
not.  Arthur,  however,  was  determined  that  she  should, 
and  quite  wearied  his  sister's  politeness  and  fingers  before 
the  long  afternoon  was  half  spent.  But  she  said  nothing ; 
for  Philip,  coming  in  earlier  than  usual,  seemed  so 
pleased  with  the  state  of  things,  that  she  was  content 
to  go  on  and  make  no  sign  of  weariness;  for  was  not 
Philip's  pleasure  hers  ?  So  she  thrummed  away  monoto- 
nously the  same  waltz  over  and  over  again,  until  Helen 
laughingly  declared  that  if  she  did  not  know  the  steps 


162  THE   FELMERES. 

she  certainly  did  the  tune,  and  that  she  was  too  tired  to 
dance  any  more  just  then. 

Mrs.  Felmere  was  glad  to  be  relieved,  and  joined 
Helen  and  Arthur,  who  were  following  Philip  into  the 
library  to  see  a  picture — "a  favorite  of  his,"  he  said, 
"which  he  had  been  keeping  for  years  as  a  gift  to 
Helen." 

The  library  was  a  long  room,  not  very  well  lighted, 
but  richly  furnished  with  all  the  appliances  for  a  literary 
life,  as  the  libraries  of  most  wealthy  un-literary  men 
are — furnished  thoroughly  at  first,  and  remaining  so  be- 
cause unused. 

Helen  looked  about  her,  wondering  what  use  Philip 
found  for  a  library,  and  secretly  planning  to  spend  most 
of  her  spare  time  here  until  she  arranged  a  studio  for 
herself. 

"  Here  it  is,"  Philip  said,  as  he  drew  away  the  cur- 
tain hanging  in  front  of  an  arched  bay  window,  revealing 
a  gilt  easel  on  which  rested  a  painting.  Helen  paused 
a  moment,  then,  paling  painfully,  came  forward  slowly 
as  a  somnambulist  might — slowly  as  though  uncertain  of 
her  steps.  It  was  Felix  Gordon's  "  King  Arthur  " ! 

Philip  stepped  hastily  between  her  and  the  picture. 
.  "Do  not  look  at  it,  Helen.     The  likeness  is  very 
strong,  but  I  did  not  think  it  would  affect  you  so  much." 

She  looked  at  him  as  though  not  quite  understanding 
him,  but,  obeying  his  gesture,  turned  and  left  the  room. 
Up  stairs  in  her  own  room  she  paused  and  tried  to  collect 
her  thoughts. 

"  What  a  strange  fate ! "  she  whispered  to  herself, 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  And  so  she  sat, 
feeling  weak  and  powerless  before  the  throng  of  old 


THE   FELMERES.  163 

memories  that  came  about  her,  until  Philip,  rapping  at 
the  door,  said  his  mother  was  ready  for  a  drive ;  would 
Helen  go  with  her  ?  But  Helen  felt  much  too  tired,  she 
said,  and  begged  hini  to  make  her  excuses  for  her. 

She  stood  near  the  window  after  that,  and  watched 
them  until  they  drove  away ;  then  she  went  down  swiftly 
to  the  library — so  glad  to  be  alone  with  her  picture ! 
She  knelt  down  in  front  of  it,  and  gazed  on  it  with  all 
the  love  and  sorrow  of  her  short  life  glowing  vividly  in 
her  face. 

"  My  own,  my  darling  picture !  "  she  murmured,  lay- 
ing her  cheek  against  it,  putting  her  arms  about  it,  and 
kissing  it  as  passionately  as  though  it  lived.  "  I  am  so 
glad,  so  glad  to  see  you ! "  Then  she  drew  away  and 
looked  at  it. 

Alas,  it  was  no  longer  a  joy !  The  fair,  sweet  past 
that  rose  before  her  seemed  almost  to  numb  her  heart. 
She  could  see  her  father  as  he  sat  reading,  all  uncon- 
scious that  she  was  stealing  his  lineaments  from  him  ;  she 
could  see  Felix  as  he  stood  in  the  hall  door  scanning  and 
praising  her  work ;  she  could  hear  him  talk  as  later  on 
he  worked  the  head  into  his  picture ;  could  see  the  slim 
brown  hands,  so  skillful  and  graceful  as  they  plied  their 
task — those  dear  brown  hands  she  kissed  so  sadly  for 
good-by  !  She  could  almost  smell  the  fresh  salt  wind ; 
could  almost  hear  the  wild,  sad  cries  of  the  sea-birds  fly- 
ing to  and  fro,  and  the  peevish  chatter  of  the  marsh-hens 
in  the  flats ! 

Ah,  so  vivid,  so  vivid  it  all  swept  over  her  as  she 
gazed  on  the  sad  grace  of  the  picture;  and  again  the 
words  came  back  to  her,  "  It  will  be  a  sweet  breath  of 
air  from  this  summer,  the  happiest  of  my  life  ;  it  will  be 


164  THE   FELMERES. 

all  our  talks  over  again,  all  our  walks,  all  our  pictures,  all 
our  books  ;  meeting  it  again  will  be  either  a  great  plea- 
sure or  a  most  bitter  pain ! "  Alas,  a  most  bitter  pain  ! 

Sweeping  into  the  ball-room  that  night,  her  shimmer- 
ing satin  and  sparkling  jewels  seeming  to  radiate  light, 
people  called  her  "  wonderfully  beautiful " — and  looking 
again,  "  strangely  sad ! "  For  the  thoughtful  eyes  seemed 
to  look  into  every  soul  they  met,  and,  drawing  thence  the 
drop  of  bitter  sadness  always  hidden  there,  revealed  it  to 
you  in  their  violet  depths.  A  strange  and  strong  fas- 
cination seemed  to  attract  attention  to  her.  People  saw 
her  beauty,  but  wondered  at  something  in  her  they  could 
not  understand. 

"  Surely,"  the  gossips  began,  "  there  is  some  mystery 
or  misfortune  hidden  somewhere  in  her  life — there  must 
be." 

And  Helen,  looking  vainly  among  the  shifting  crowd 
for  that  one  bright  boyish  face — always  bright  and  boy- 
ish to  her — felt  a  new  excitement  creeping  through  her 
veins,  an  excitement  deep  and  powerful.  Always  expect- 
ing, always  hoping,  always  listening  for  some  echo  of  his 
name  and  fame,  she  talked  and  listened  eagerly  to  every 
stranger. 

Arthur,  always  close  beside  her,  always  ready  to  help 
or  entertain  her,  watched  the  flickering  color  come  and 
go — watched  the  flashing  of  her  eyes  and  the  sorrow  in 
the  depths  of  them,  and  wondered  why  she  had  married 
his  commonplace  nephew. 

But  in  the  dim  day-dawn,  when  all  the  house  was  still, 
the  sad-eyed,  envied,  beautiful  Mrs.  Philip  Felmere  crept 
down  to  where  the  picture  was  slowly  growing  into  color 
under  the  morning  light,  and  knelt  before  it  as  before  a 


THE  FELMERES.  165 

shrine.  And  there — forgetting  her  "  lord  and  master," 
forgetting  her  host  of  admirers,  forgetting  her  enviable 
beauty  and  riches — she  went  back  to  the  far-away  sum- 
mer down  in  the  old  house  among  the  flats — once  so 
dreary,  now  so  glorified ! 

So  the  sad  troubled  face  of  the  "  Great  King "  grew 
slowly  into  light — sad  and  troubled  as  the  face  of  him 
who  had  lost  his  God — sad  and  troubled  and  strangely 
like  the  face  of  the  woman  who  knelt  desolate  in  the  gray 
dawn — the  woman  without  religion,  without  love,  without 
hope! 


CHAPTER  III. 

And,  indeed,  her  chief  fault  was  this  unconscious  scorn 
Of  the  world,  to  whose  usages  woman  is  born." 

THE  winter  opened  with  a  fashionable  rush :  balls,  ger- 
mans,  dinners,  theatres,  operas — everything  in  fact  that 
could  be  done  to  absolutely  annihilate  time.  And  Helen, 
in  the  thickest  of  the  fray,  half  way  scorned  and  half  way 
enjoyed  it  all.  To  Mrs.  Felmere,  however,  the  winter 
was  somewhat  shadowed,  as  she  found  that  the  possession 
.of  her  beautiful  daughter-in-law  was  not  unmixed  delight 
and  triumph ;  for  Helen  had,  among  other  peculiarities,  a 
quiet  way  of  putting  all  the  conventionalities  which  were 
the  creed  of  Mrs.  Felmere's  week-day  life  to  the  crucial 
test  of  reason,  and  as  often  as  not  putting  them  aside. 
Mrs.  Felmere  could  not  deny  that  Helen  was  very  polite 
in  her  manner  of  doing  this — often,  indeed,  seeming  to 
do  it  with  a  calm  unconsciousness  that  the  feelings  of  any 


166  THE   FELMERES. 

person  would  or  could  be  hurt  by  a  difference  of  opinion 
on  such  subjects ;  but  this  fact  did  not  make  her  course 
any  the  less  disagreeable.  On  the  other  hand,  if  there 
was  anything  Helen  desired  to  do,  and  in  which  she  saw 
no  harm,  she  would  unhesitatingly  do  it  in  spite  of,  or 
rather  in  disregard  of,  the  world's  opinion. 

Another  thing  that  Mrs.  Felmere  could  not  recover 
from  was  Helen's  perfect  candor  whenever  her  opinion 
was  asked.  She  never  for  one  moment  considered  expe- 
diency ;  nothing  was  ever  shaded  off  or  added  to  what 
came  from  her  lips;  and  Mrs.  Felmere  was  becoming 
afraid  even  of  telling  so  much  as  a  polite  fib  where  Helen 
could  hear  her.  It  was  surely  very  trying  to  have  such  a 
disagreeably  exact  person  always  about  you.  But  the 
open  and  quiet  expression  of  Helen's  unbelief  was  one  of 
the  hardest  trials  Mrs.  Felmere  had  to  bear,  for  she  was 
superstitiously  religious ;  and  on  this  score  poor  Philip 
also  suffered,  for,  lectured  by  his  mother  into  lecturing 
his  wife  on  this  point,  he  was  always  met  by  a  silence  half 
contemptuous,  half  amused,  and  wholly  pitying.  It  surely 
did  not  promise  to  be  a  happy  household. 

On  the  second  Sunday  after  their  arrival  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere insisted  that  Philip  should  make  a  point  of  Helen's 
going  to  church,  and  afterward  dining  at  Miss  Esther 
Jourdan's  house.  Under  great  stress  of  harassment 
Philip  made  his  point,  and,  much  to  his  happiness,  was 
met  by  a  quiet  acquiescence,  on  the  ground  that,  as  she 
looked  on  church-going  as  one  of  the  family  habits,  it 
would  be  impolite  not  to  conform.  Mrs.  Felmere  also 
was  surprised  at  this,  and,  looking  back,  was  compelled 
to  put  a  retrospective  faith  in  the  headache  Helen  had 
given  as  an  excuse  the  Sunday  before. 


THE   FELMERES.  167 

A  handsomely  respectable,  well-lighted,  well-heated, 
comfortable  church ;  a  richly  rustling  congregation ;  a 
grand  organ,  a  brilliant  choir,  and  an  oratorical  rector ! 
Such  was  the  "  holy  temple  "  where  the  Felmeres  wor- 
shiped. Not  ritualistic  ?  Oh,  no !  Not  Methodistical  ? 
Oh,  never !  What  then  ?  Why,  respectable  "  middle 
church."  Yes,  deadly  respectable — excessively  "  middle 
church  " — cold  unto  death ! 

Mrs.  Felmere  took  one  comfortable  corner  of  the  pew, 
and  Philip  the  other,  and  Helen  sitting  very  straight  in 
the  middle  mused  on  unselfishness ! 

The  service  opened  with  airs  from  "  Traviata,"  which 
to  Helen,  with  the  opera  and  its  story  fresh  in  her  mind, 
seemed  a  trifle  incongruous.  She  listened  and  admired 
until  the  service  began ;  then  with  much  curiosity,  but 
without  pretending  to  follow,  she  studied  her  prayer-book 
and  watched  everything  with  much  interest. 

The  sermon  did  not  in  the  least  attract  her,  nor  did 
the  singing,  notwithstanding  her  love  for  music ;  for  to 
her  it  all  seemed  ill-matched  and  caused  a  sort  of  sorrow 
to  come  over  her  that  this  should  be  so.  She  remembered 
her  girlish  ideal  of  Christianity — an  ideal  built  on  her 
father's  description  of  its  rise  and  spread — and  could  not 
but  feel  a  little  sad  at  having  to  give  it  up.  She  had 
pictured  something  so  grand  and  solemn,  so  far-reaching 
in  its  services  and  prayers ;  and  it  was  not  there — at  least 
not  in  this  church.  She  had  so  often  imagined  the  Chris- 
tians' reverence  for  their  God,  and  their  love  of  their 
prayers  to  Him,  and  how  deep  and  thankful  their  trust 
would  be.  Alas !  in  this  light,  unmysterious  church  she 
heard  the  priest  saying  these  very  prayers  off  in  oily, 
familiar  tones,  and  with  a  self-appreciative,  patronizing 


168  THE  FELMERES. 

manner,  as  though  he  were  conferring  a  favor  on  the 
Lord  by  his  service !  Among  the  people  she  saw  that 
few  knelt,  leaning  forward  in  preference ;  and  that  all 
of  them,  kneeling  or  sitting,  rattled  off  the  responses  as 
though  speed  were  at  a  premium.  She  looked,  and 
listened,  and  wondered.  This  sort  of  religion  could  not 
surely  benefit  any  one ;  and  was  she  not  as  well  off  as 
they  were  ?  But  she  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself,  not 
even  remarking  on  the  hurry  to  get  away  that  seemed  to 
possess  every  one  as  soon  as  the  service  was  over — rush- 
ing out  into  the  aisles  with  the  greatest  air  of  relief,  and 
chattering  to  each  other  in  the  most  frivolous  manner  and 
about  the  most  incongruous  things ;  yet  this  to  them  was 
a  holy  place ! 

They  drove  from  church  to  Miss  Esther's  house,  where 
the  whole  family  made  a  point  of  assembling  every  Sun- 
day, making  it,  as  Helen  thought  to  herself,  strictly  a 
duty  day. 

She  watched  them  all  with  keen,  unloving  eyes,  and 
drew  many  conclusions  that  it  never  entered  into  their 
wildest  dreams  to  conceive  as  possible  regarding  them- 
selves. Jack  and  Arthur  she  really  liked,  for  they  were 
strictly  honest  and  kind  to  her.  Philip,  too,  would  have 
been  so,  if  his  mother  had  not  constantly  forced  upon 
him  a  course  of  advice  and  lecturings. 

During  dinner  the  talk  turned  on  the  services,  and 
Mr.  Jourdan,  addressing  Helen,  asked  her  what  she 
thought  of  them.  Mrs.  Felmere  and  Philip  looked  up 
anxiously  as  they  heard  the  question  ;  for,  although  they 
had  tried  to  impress  on  Helen  that  it  was  considered 
almost  a  disgrace  for  a  woman  to  be  an  unbeliever,  and 
especially  so  in  their  circle^  yet  they  knew  that  she  had 


THE   FELMERES.  169 

not  heeded  them,  and  would  not  now,  if  she  so  minded, 
hesitate  to  confess  herself  before  the  assembled  family, 
and  so  cover  her  husband  and  mother-in-law  with  morti- 
fication, and  reveal  to  all  the  "  skeleton  in  the  closet." 
But  Helen  answered  without  the  shadow  of  a  scoff : 

"  It  was  not  what  I  expected,  Uncle  John." 

"  And  what  did  you  expect  ? "  Miss  Esther  asked 
sharply. 

"  I  do  not  know  exactly,"  Helen  answered  quietly, 
"  but  something  more  quiet,  more  solemn — I  might  say 
more  deep  and  reverential." 

Mrs.  Felmere  and  Philip  were  surprised  at  these  sim- 
ple answers,  and  felt  much  relieved  that  danger  had 
been  avoided,  not  knowing  that  Helen  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  avoid  as  far  as  possible  all  discussions  and  con- 
tentions with  Miss  Esther. 

But  the  fates  were  not  so  propitious  as  Mrs.  Felmere 
had  imagined ;  for  Amelia  Jourdan,  having  heard  vague 
hints  of  Helen's  unbelief,  and  being  curious  to  hear  more, 
entered  into  the  conversation. 

"  You  are  a  Ritualist,  then  \ "  she  asserted  interroga- 
tively. 

Helen  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  you." 

"  I  mean  you  are  fond  of  forms  and  ceremonies,  and 
hang  your  faith  on  non-essentials,"  Amelia  explained,  let- 
ting her  voice  linger  fondly  on  these  "  war-cries  "  of  her 
party. 

"  No,"  Helen  answered,  shaking  her  head ;  "  you  do 
not  now  quite  understand  me.  You  are  perhaps  not 
aware  that  this  is  my  first  experience  of  church  ser- 
vices." 

8 


170  TEE   FELMERES. 

The  family  looked  interested  and  curious,  and  Mrs. 
Felmere  and  Philip  utterly  miserable,  as  Amelia  pursued 
her  inquiries. 

"  Why,  are  you  a  sectarian  ? " 

"  No,  not  at  all." 

"  A  Romanist  ? " 

"  No,  nor  that  either."  Then  Helen  paused  and  felt 
a  little  pity  for  Philip  and  his  mother,  both  looking  so 
nervous  and  restless  just  opposite  her. 

"  "What  are  you,  then  ? "  Amelia  said  quickly,  afraid 
some  one  would  stop  her. 

"  Your  cousin  was  not  trained  in  any  special  church," 
Mrs.  Felmere  answered  reprovingly. 

Helen  smiled  and  looked  up  at  Arthur,  who  sat  beside 
her  and  knew  pretty  well  what  the  truth  of  the  matter 
was.  He  returned  her  smile  and  shook  his  head  warn- 
ingly,  for  he  was  anxious  for  her  sake  to  keep  the  peace  : 
but  he  saw  plainly  that  his  sister  had  made  a  false  move. 

Amelia  was  silenced ;  but  Miss  Esther,  who  had  taken 
a  strong  dislike  to  her  new  relative  and  longed  to  see  her 
humbled,  and,  moreover,  had  an  amiable  desire  to  clip 
Mrs.  Felmere's  too  triumphant  wings,  here  asked  of 
Helen : 

"  And  which  church  or  denomination  do  you  intend 
joining,  Mrs.  Helen  ? " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  until  the  harsh  voice  died 
away  ;  then  Helen  answered  quietly  and  frankly : 

"  None.     I  was  not  brought  up  a  Christian." 

Amelia's  curiosity  was  satisfied,  as  was  Miss  Esther's 
spite,  and  an  ominous  silence  fell  on  the  shocked  com- 
pany. It  did  not  last  long,  however ;  for  poor  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere, whose  mortification  was  only  exceeded  by  her  anger, 


THE  FELMERES.  171 

broke  the  silence  in  a  smooth  cold  voice,  which  Helen  had 
learned  to  know  meant  warning  of  silence  to  her. 

"  My  brother-in-law  was  very  peculiar  in  his  views," 
she  said  slowly,  "  and  made  the  mistake  of  bringing  Helen 
up  in  accordance  with  them ;  but  she  will  join  us  before 
long,  I  hope." 

It  was  a  frightful  blunder,  this  speech,  and  Helen 
would  in  pity  have  let  it  pass  but  for  the  slur  on  her 
father;  that  made  her  blood  tingle,  and  must  be  an- 
swered. 

"  Perhaps  he  thought  your  views,  if  not  peculiar,  at 
least  very  wonderful,"  she  said  quietly,  but  with  a  light 
in  her  eyes  that  Philip  did  not  like ;  "  and  perhaps  he 
thought,  and  with  as  much  reason,  that  you  were  mis- 
taken." 

Mrs.  Felmere  turned  very  white,  and  leaned  back  in 
her  chair  quite  silenced ;  for  further  argument  would 
only  insure  further  disclosures.  So  she  put  away  as 
gracefully  as  she  might  her  wounded  pride  and  wrath 
until  some  future  time,  when  her  family  would  not  be 
there  to  triumph  sympathetically  over  her  discomfiture 
with  her  beautiful  and  much-vaunted  daughter-in-law. 

The  women  rather  veered  away  from  Helen  after  din- 
ner ;  but  Arthur,  seeing  it,  and  feeling  angry  with  them 
for  their  treatment,  came  and  sat  by  her.  She  made  no 
remarks  about  the  conversation  at  dinner,  nor  yet  about 
the  present  loneliness  of  her  position  ;  but  taking  up  a 
book  of  etchings,  she  began  idly  to  turn  over  its  pages, 
allowing  him  to  choose  his  own  subjects  and  talk  as  he 
pleased.  Slowly  she  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  book, 
uninterestedly  listening  to  Arthur's  talk,  all  the  while 
commenting  in  her  own  mind  on  the  people  she  found 


172  THE  FELMERES. 

herself  among.  They  seemed  so  narrow,  so  small-mind- 
ed, so  low  in  their  views  of  life ;  and  yet  what  higher 
views  had  she  ? 

Suddenly  she  stopped  with  a  page  held  -tight  in  her 
hand.  She  rose  abruptly,  leaving  Arthur  in  the  middle 
of  a  sentence,  and  stepped  nearer  the  light  to  examine 
one  of  the  pictures ;  only  a  moment  she  looked  at  it,  then 
closed  the  book  slowly  without  a  word,  and  came  back  to 
the  sofa  weak  and  pale.  It  was  only  a  sketch  of  Fel- 
mere  church  and  churchyard,  with  the  initials  F.  G.  in 
one  corner !  Why  was  it  that  he  met  her  at  every  turn  ? 
Why  was  it  that  those  old  days  should  so  haunt  her  pres- 
ent misery  ? 

"  You  are  ill,"  Arthur  said  quickly,  as  he  saw  how 
pale  she  looked,  and  he  brought  her  a  glass  of  water.  He 
was  so  kind,  and  seemed  so  true,  that  Helen  determined 
to  ask  him  a  few  questions ;  for  even  if  he  did  surmise 
anything,  she  did  not  think  he  would  talk  of  it.  So 
when  he  again  took  his  seat  she  began : 

"  Are  there  many  rising  artists  that  you  know  any- 
thing of,  Arthur?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  there  are  several,  but  I  only 
know  them  very  casually.  I  have  a  friend,  however, 
who  has  just  returned  to  town — and,  by  the  way,  is  very 
anxious  to  meet  you — who  knows  all  that  sort  of  people, 
and  can  tell  you  all  about  everybody." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Mrs.  Vanzandt." 

"  Yanzandt,"  she  repeated ;  "  is  she  a  friend  of  my 
aunt  ? " 

Arthur  laughed. 

"Not  altogether  loving  friends,  but  they  keep  up 


THE   FELMEEES.  173 

what  you  might  call  a  guarded  and  armed  fondness.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  she  has  once  or  twice  taken  the  social 
lead  out  of  Amelia's  hands,  and  among  women  of  the 
world  this  does  not  induce  affection." 

"  Yes,"  Helen  said,  nodding  her  head  ;  "  I  remember 
now  what  it  was  Aunt  Amelia  said,  and  that  I  drew  the 
conclusion  at  the  time  that  I  should  be  apt  to  like  Mrs. 
Yanzandt." 

"  It  is  more  than  probable,"  Arthur  answered,  "  for 
she  can  make  herself  and  her  house  very  charming  if  she 
chooses ;  I  am  really  very  fond  of  her." 

"  Where  is  her  husband  ?  " 

Arthur  shook  his  head. 

"I  do  not  know;  they  were  divorced  many  years 
ago — rather  a  dark  story,  I  believe.  But  people  do  not 
heed  or  remember  that  now,  for  she  is  rich  and  in  a 
certain  way  charming." 

"Money  seems  to  be  a  great  power,"  Helen  said 
musingly,  "  and  I  have  never  realized  it  until  now." 

"  And  you  will  be  made  to  realize  it  more  and  more 
the  longer  you  live,"  Arthur  answered. 

"I  think  I  would  prefer  being  poor,  really  poor," 
Helen  went  on,  "  so  that  I  should  have  to  work  for  my 
living.  I  am  very  tired  of  this  easy,  useless  life,  and  I 
feel  penned  up,  inane,  and  altogether  a  burden  on  my 
own  hands." 

"  What  would  you  like  to  do  ?  "  Arthur  asked. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  an  artist,"  she  answered.  "  I 
am  very  fond  of  painting,  and  I  think  I  could  succeed  ; 
but  I  have  not  touched  a  brush  since  I  have  been  here." 
And  she  sighed. 

"  You  need  not  sigh  so  pitifully,"  Arthur  said,  feel- 


174:  THE   FELMERES. 

ing  a  great  sympathy  for  his  lovely  companion  creeping 
over  him  ;  for  a  beautiful  woman  looks  so  sad  when  she 
is  sad,  and  an  ugly  woman  so  ugly ! 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  sigh,"  Helen  answered,  and  felt 
impatient  with  herself  for  giving  way  to  even  that  much 
feeling ;  but  she  found  she  was  being  sadly  shaken  out 
of  her  self-control  by  these  prying  people. 

"  I  should  think  you  could  easily  arrange  a  studio  for 
yourself,"  Arthur  suggested ;  "  your  house  is  full  large 
enough." 

"  I  intend  to — either  that,  or  hire  one,"  she  answered ; 
"  and  then  you  may  introduce  me  to  your  friend  Mrs. 
Yanzandt,  who  you  say  deals  in  my  sort  of  people — I 
mean  artistic  people." 

Arthur  laughed. 

"  Not  only  artistic,"  he  said,  "  but  literary,  scientific, 
musical,  and  commonplace — people  of  all  grades  and  em- 
ployments. A  strange  conglomeration  sometimes,  but 
always  entertaining ! " 

"  I  should  think  much  more  so  than  the  conventional 
stereotyped  people  we  meet  at  balls  and  parties.  They 
seem  to  have  lost  all  command  of  ideas."  And  Helen 
yawned  slightly,  as  though  even  the  remembrance  of  them 
wearied  her. 

"  Even  the  recollection  of  them  makes  you  sleepy," 
Arthur  said,  laughing ;  "  but  you  should  not  allow  your- 
self to  get  really  sleepy,  nor  indulge  yourself  in  any 
hopes  of  getting  home  for  an  hour  or  two  yet,  as  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Tolman  always  comes  in  for  a  sociable  cup  of 
tea  on  Sunday  evenings." 

"  Who  is  he  ? "  Helen  asked — "  the  man  who  preached 
this  morning  ? " 


THE   FELMERES.  175 

"  The  very  same  ;  and  as  you  are  a  fresh  importation, 
you  will  have  to  bear  the  brunt  of  his  conversation." 

"  I  shall  not  object,"  Helen  answered ;  "  indeed,  I 
shall  like  to  meet  him  and  hear  what  he  talks  about.  I 
was  out  when  he  called.  But  is  he  married,  and  will 
Mrs.  Tolinan  come  with  him  ? " 

"  Ko,  he  is  not  just  now  married,  but  I  do  not  doubt 
but  that  he  will  replace  his  wife  before  long,  for  the 
women  all '  adore '  him — Amelia  Jourdan  among  the  rest." 

Helen  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Do  you  mean,  Arthur,  that  Amelia  would  like  to 
marry  him  ? " 

"  To  all  appearances,  yes."  And  Helen,  listening 
much  interested,  detected  the  trifle  of  scorn  that  came 
into  his  voice  as  he  went  on.  "  Amelia  is  not  a  beauty, 
you  know,  nor  so  rich  as  to  be  an  heiress ;  so  she  will  be 
quite  willing  to  compromise  on  the  church  and  a  certain 
salary.  The  family  actually  seem  anxious  for  it." 

"  Is  she  in  love  with  him  ? "  Helen  asked  gravely. 

"  In  love  ? "  Arthur  repeated,  looking  at  her  curiously ; 
"  do  you  think  that  a  necessary  part  of  the  contract  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  then,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
she  added  more  slowly,  "  that  is,  if  you  desire  or  expect 
the  faintest  shadow  of  happiness." 

"  So  she  lives  without  the  '  shadow  of  happiness,' " 
Arthur  thought ;  and  feeling  more  than  ever  sorry  for 
her,  he  answered  slowly : 

"  I  do  not  know  about  Amelia,  but  girls  as  a  rule  do 
not  count  love  in  after  they  have  passed  their  earlier 
youth;  but  from  that  time  they  act  on  what  they  are 
pleased  to  term  a  '  common-sense  basis ' — choosing  a  man 
according  to  his  money,  his  position,  his  morals." 


176  THE   FELMERES. 

"Do  they  put  morals  last  ?"  Helen  went  on  gravely. 

Arthur  shook  his  head. 

"  There  is  somewhat  of  mystery  surrounding  that 
point,"  he  said ;  "  but  it  seems  to  depend  on  how  much  a 
man  is  worth.  If  he  is  very  rich,  and  is  not  pulled  out 
of  the  gutter  during  the  day,  they  will  marry  him  on  the 
plea  of  reforming  him:  it  is  quite  a  missionary  spirit 
they  show."  And  he  pulled  his  mustache  medita- 
tively. 

"  Is  this  so  everywhere,  or  only  in  this  city  ? "  Helen 
went  on. 

"  Everywhere  that  I  have  been,"  he  answered.  "  The 
love  of  money  seems  to  be  in  a  state  of  development ;  we 
shall  soon  be  able  to  rank  it  as  a  feminine  instinct." 

Helen  laughed. 

"  You  make  me  think  that  you  have  been  at  some 
time  a  sufferer  from  these  or  like  causes." 

Arthur  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  one  only  has  treated  me  ill  on  this  account,  but 
whole  dozens  of  them.  Of  course  there  can  be  no  other 
reason  for  their  not  being  charmed." 

"  Of  course ;  but,  Arthur,  what  is  it  that  so  influences 
them  to  the  love  of  money  ? " 

"They  are  brought  up  to  it,"  he  answered  slowly. 
"  As  soon  as  a  girl  has  teethed,  money  and  matrimony  are 
the  two  aims  and  ends  of  life  that  are  set  before  her ; 
and  as  after  a  while  existence  would  be  a  blank  without 
these  two  things,  they  are  naturally  the  main  objects  of 
pursuit." 

"It  is  pitiful,"  Helen  said;  "and  I  had  formed  such 
different  ideas  of  the  lives  and  education  of  Christians." 

Arthur  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 


THE  FELMERES.  177 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  idea  of  Christians  from  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  From  my  father's  descriptions,  and  from  the  Bible," 
she  answered. 

Arthur  felt  nonplused.  He  was  too  honest  to  pre- 
tend that  the  Christians  he  moved  among  guided  their 
lives  by  the  Bible ;  in  fact,  he  had  more  than  once,  in 
observing  them,  thought  that  they  could  only  be  called 
Christians  in  contradistinction  to  "  Jews,  Turks,  infidels, 
and  heretics,"  and  not  because  they  had  any  of  the  real 
life  of  Christianity  in  them ;  and  yet  to  this  unbeliever  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  acknowledge  this.  Finally  he 
said  rather  deprecatingly : 

"  I  am  afraid  that  the  religious  training  of  the  present 
day  is  rather  ecclesiastical  than  biblical ;  at  least  I  should 
be  led  to  this  conclusion  from  my  observations  of  the 
results." 

"  It  seems  to  me  the  blindest  folly,"  Helen  answered, 
"  not  to  hold  -to  such  a  beautiful  religion  when  you  have 
the  choice  of  doing  so." 

Arthur  looked  up  surprised,  but  his  reply  was  cut 
short  by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Tolman. 

Helen  watched  Amelia  curiously  as  she  greeted  him, 
wishing  to  judge  for  herself  of  Arthur's  conclusions. 
Amelia  was  reverentially  gushing,  and  Mr.  Tolman  held 
her  hand  in  both  of  his  while  he  told  her  in  a  fatherly 
way  how  glad  he  was  to  see  her,  and  how  well  she  looked. 
Arthur  saw  that  she  was  watching,  and  smiled  signifi- 
cantly as  she  looked  up  to  him  for  confirmation  of  the 
scene. 

Then  Mr.  Tolman  was  brought  toward  where  they 
sat.  Helen  scanned  his  face  curiously  during  his  intro- 


178  THE   FELMERES. 

duction ;  and  all  the  while  he  shook  her  hand  and  made  his 
speeches  about  "  dear  Phil's  wife,"  and  "  dear  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere's  happiness  in  such  a  daughter,"  she  was  reading 
him. 

He  did  not  leave  her  a  moment  in  which  to  say  a  word 
until  they  had  been  seated  for  some  little  time ;  then  he 
asked  her  "  how  she  liked  city  life  ? " 

"  Very  well,"  Helen  answered  gravely. 

"  Only  '  very  well ' !     Why,  how  is  this,  Phil  2 " 

"  It  is  not  Philip's  fault,"  Helen  answered  in  her  lit- 
eral way ;  "  it  arises  from  my  being  country-bred.  I  like 
the  quiet  best." 

Philip  looked  a  little  anxious,  and  Arthur  smiled  as 
he  watched  the  growing  perplexity  on  Helen's  counte- 
nance as  Mr.  Tolman  rattled  on. 

"  Prefer  the  quiet  ?  Why,  how  is  that  ?  Miss  Amy 
here  does  not,  I  warrant." 

Amelia  looked  a  little  sad,  and  Mrs.  Jourdan  said  she 
thought  "  Amelia  had  quite  tired  of  society  lately." 

Helen  looked  around  quickly  ;  she  had  not  at  all  ob- 
served this  weariness  in  Amelia ;  and  Mrs.  Felmere,  seeing 
the  look  and  fearing  a  speech  from  her,  hastily  filled  the 
little  pause  with  words  to  the  effect  that  "  the  dear  child 
longed  for  a  higher  life." 

"A  sisterhood,"  Arthur  suggested  from  not  an  alto- 
gether amiable  motive ;  and  Miss  Esther,  scenting  a  dis- 
cussion, smiled  grimly. 

Mr.  Tolman  shook  his  head. 

"Home  is  a  higher  sphere  for  a  woman  than  any 
other,"  he  said  reprovingly. 

Helen  was  listening  attentively. 

"  I  thought  only  Roman  Catholics  had  sisterhoods," 


THE  FELMERES.  179 

she  said,  while  Mrs.  Felmere  looked  reprovingly  at 
Arthur. 

"  So  it  has  been  until  of  late,"  Mr.  Tolman  answered 
instructively ;  "  but  now  there  is  a  branch  of  our  church 
which  seems  to  think  religion  lies  in  copying  Rome ;  in 
sinking  back  into  mediaeval  darkness  and  superstitions ; 
returning  to  images  and  pictures,  to  bowings  and 
scrapings,  and  playing  at  '  What  o'clock,  old  witch  ? '  all 
round  the  church.  To  me  all  this  is  abhorrent  and 
foolish." 

"  I  agree  with  you  entirely,"  Miss  Esther  said  severe- 
ly ;  "  it  is  actual  mummery  and  idolatry." 

"  Miss  De  Sayle  has  entered  the  sisterhood,"  Amelia 
said  with  a  tinge  of  pious  pity  in  her  voice. 

"  She  was  never  afflicted  with  much  sense,"  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere rejoined  contemptuously. 

"  To  me  it  seems  less  of  a  sin  to  be  a  regular  Romanist 
at  once  than  a  bad  imitation,"  said  Mrs.  Jourdan. 

"  What  is  it  they  do  in  the  sisterhood  that  is  so 
wicked  ? "  Helen  asked,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  They  take  an  oath  of  celibacy,"  Arthur  answered 
gravely  from  where  he  leaned  on  the  high  back  of  her 
chair. 

Helen  turned  to  see  if  he  were  in  earnest,  and  Jack 
laughed  merrily  at  the  look  of  surprised  consternation 
that  came  over  the  faces  of  the  company. 

"  No,  Arthur,  but  I  really  wish  to  find  out  about 
them,"  Helen  went  on,  turning  to  Mr.  Tolman. 

"They  profess  to  devote  themselves  to  charitable 
works,"  Mr.  Tolman  answered. 

"  Profess  ? "  Helen  repeated.  "  Do  they  not  perform 
them  ?  Are  they  not  true  in  what  they  say  ? " 


180  THE  FELMERES. 

"  I,  for  one,  do  not  believe  they  are,"  sneered  Miss 
Esther. 

"  All  affectation  !  "  said  Mrs.  Jourdan. 

"  The  dress  is  becoming  and  romantic,"  added  Mrs. 
Felmere. 

"  But  tell  me  really,"  Helen  asked  of  Mr.  Tolman, 
"  do  you  not  believe  in  them? " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  slowly,  as  though,  he  were 
weighing  the  matter;  "yes,  I  believe  they  mean  to  be 
true." 

"  Then  what  is  wrong  in  them  ?  "  Helen  asked  grave- 
ly. "  If  they  are  striving  to  do  right,  and  give  up  their 
lives  to  charitable  works,  why  so  abuse  them  ? " 

"Softly,  softly,  my  dear  young  lady!"  Mr.  Tolman 
interrupted.  "  I  do  not  for  one  moment  abuse  them  ! " 

"  Indeed,  but  you  forget,"  Helen  rejoined  quickly ; 
"  you  intimated  that  doing  good  and  being  true  was  a 
'profession '  on  their  part,  and  not  a  practice." 

Mr.  Tolman  colored  up. 

"  I  was,  perhaps,  a  trifle  hasty  in  my  choice  of  words, 
madam,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  mean  to  cast  any  slur  on 
their  works  or  their  sincerity,  but  I  do  think  the  system 
a  mistaken  one." 

"  Why  ? "  Helen  went  on,  wishing  to  make  him  ex- 
press himself  firmly  on  the  question. 

"  Because  it  leads  to  superstition  and  empty  forms ; 
because  it  is  copying  Rome  ;  because  I  do  not  think  God 
meant  women  to  cut  themselves  off  from  their  duties  in 
any  such  way."  And  he  looked  around  complacently  on 
his  audience. 

"  But  if  they  think  this  mode  of  life  their  duty  ? " 
Helen  urged. 


THE   FELMERES.  181 

"  Then  they  think  wrong"  Mr.  Tolman  answered 
promptly. 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  I  say,  God  never  meant  them  for  any  such 
purpose."  His  tone  was  becoming  a  little  impatient ;  he 
was  not  accustomed  to  such  contumacy. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  so  certainly  ?  "  Helen  went 
on  quietly. 

"  How  do  I  know  anything  \ "  Mr.  Tolman  re- 
torted. 

"  In  no  way,  I  think,  except  by  experience,"  Helen 
answered  ;  "and  I  can  not  see  how  you  can  know  God's 
purposes  in  that  way,  since  I  suppose  you  will  admit  that 
you  can  not  even  so  prove  that  there  is  any  God." 

Mr.  Tolman  looked  aghast;  Philip  walked  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room ;  Mrs.  Felmere  was  pitiably  morti- 
fied ;  and  the  rest  of  the  ladies  looked  in  a  sort  of  pious 
"  I  told  you  so  "  state.  Mr.  Tolman's  metaphysics  were 
rusty  ;  he  could  dogmatize  on  ritualism,  but  he  had  not 
attempted  to  philosophize  on  the  "  Absolute "  and  the 
"  Infinite  "  since  he  had  come  to  be  a  popular  orator  in  a 
rich  city  church :  in  fact,  shortly  after  his  call  to  this 
highly  respectable  salary,  he  began  to  have  queer  feelings 
in  his  head  that  prevented  much  study  on  his  part.  So 
now,  with  a  retrospective  sigh  for  the  disadvantages  un- 
der which  he  had  labored,  he  shook  his  head  slowly  and 
sadly,  and,  falling  back  on  faith,  answered  solemnly : 

"  We  need  no  such  proof." 

"I  know  you  do  not,"  Helen  answered.  "I  only 
wished  to  find  out  how  you  can  know  so  positively  what 
God  means,  unless  you  can  with  equal  certainty  know 
God.  You  may  say  you  do  not  approve  of  sisterhoods, 


182  THE   FELMERES. 

but  I  can  not  understand  how  you  can  so  dogmatically 
assert  that  God  does  not  approve  of  them.  If  I  remem- 
ber rightly,  St.  Paul  advises  women  to  remain  unmarried 
and  to  do  the  works  of  the  Lord ;  does  he  not  ? " 

Here  Mr.  Tolman  was  on  firm  ground  again,  and  re- 
joined quickly : 

"  St.  Paul  may  have  advised  it,  but  you  may  also  re- 
member that  he  tells  us  he  spoke  there  without  inspira- 
tion ! " 

As  he  finished  his  voice  sounded  almost  triumphant ; 
and  as  it  ceased  Helen's  answer  came  in  quietly  : 

"  Yery  true,  but  may  not  these  '  Sisters '  think  the 
uninspired  advice  of  St.  Paul  is  better  to  be  followed 
than  your  uninspired  opinion  ? " 

The  point  was  made  so  simply  that  Mr.  Tolman 
scarcely  realized  it ;  and  when  even  Miss  Esther  joined 
the  young  men  and  Mr.  Jourdan  in  a  little  half-smoth- 
ered laugh  at  his  expense,  his  state  of  mind  could  not 
have  been  described  as  tranquil.  He  looked  at  his  adver- 
sary a  moment  in  silence,  then  asked  : 

"  Are  you  a  Romanist  or  an  Anglican  ritualist  ? " 

Helen  did  not  wish  that  her  unbelief  should  again 
come  under  discussion,  for  there  was  no  use  in  making 
her  husband  and  mother  miserable  before  strangers,  how- 
ever silly  such  misery  appeared  in  her  eyes ;  so  she  sim- 
ply answered : 

"  I  am  not  either." 

"What  are  you  then?" 

There  was  a  painful  silence  in  the  room  as  she  an- 
swered : 

"  In  your  vocabulary  there  are  many  names  for  me : 
Utilitarian,  Materialist,  Skeptic,  Positivist,  Atheist.  I 


THE   FELMERES.  183 

call  myself  a  Rationalist ;  I  think  that  more  nearly  ex- 
presses my  position." 

Miss  Esther  nodded  her  head  once  or  twice,  then 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  in  a  state  of  happy  resignation ; 
Mrs.  Felmere  muttered  "  Horrible  ! "  while  Mrs.  Jourdan 
and  Amelia  looked  exceedingly  sorrowful. 

Mr.  Tolman  turned  away  from  Helen  as  she  ceased 
speaking,  and  walked  the  length  of  the  room  once  or 
twice  in  silence.  At  last  he  stopped  near  Philip,  who, 
overwhelmed  with  these  exposures  and  the  weight  of  the 
family  displeasure,  leaned  against  the  mantel  with  his 
head  bowed  on  his  hand. 

"  How  has  this  happened  \ "  Mr.  Tolman  asked  slowly. 

Helen  heard  the  question,  as  did  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, and  listened  intently  for  Philip's  answer. 

"  How  was  it  done  ? "  Mr.  Tolman  repeated  in  a  more 
authoritative  tone. 

"  She  was  educated  to  it,"  Philip  answered  sullenly. 

"And  you  knew  it? "  Mr.  Tolman  went  on. 

"Yes." 

There  came  a  quick,  sharp  sigh  from  Arthur,  and  Hel- 
en's chair  shook  under  his  grasp ;  he  made  a  quick  move- 
ment forward  as  he  said : 

"  And  wherein  do  you  presume  to  blame  him  ? "   The 
question  cut  sharply  through  the  silence. 

Jack  twisted  round  and  round  on  the  piano  stool ;  Mr. 
Jourdan  looked  exceedingly  annoyed  and  the  women  ut- 
terly demoralized  at  this  new  development.  Mr.  Tol- 
man, turning,  answered  slowly : 

"  *  Be  ye  not  unequally  yoked  together  with  unbeliev- 
ers ' — have  you  never  heard  that,  Mr.  Jourdan  ? — '  for 
what  part  hath  he  that  believeth  with  an  infidel  ? ' " 


184  THE  FELMERES. 

"  And  why  did  not  you  impress  all  this  more  deeply 
on  Philip  in  his  early  youth  ? "  Helen  asked  quietly,  but 
with  a  shade  of  scorn  creeping  into  her  voice.  "  You 
were  his  spiritual  director ;  why  did  you  not  make  him 
appreciate  more  fully  the  vileness  and  blackness  of  unbe- 
lief and  reason?  With  all  due  deference,  I  think  you 
and  my  aunt  are  more  to  blame  in  this  matter  than  Philip  ; 
for  six  years  ago,  when  he  came  first  to  look  after  his 
father's  legacy,  he  did  not  seem  to  think  there  was  any 
sin  in  what  he  was  doing — neither  did  my  aunt !  " 

There  was  a  bitter,  bitter  ring  in  her  voice  as  for  the 
first  time  she  put  in  words  the  knowledge  she  had  felt 
creeping  over  her  of  her  husband's  utter  weakness,  and 
the  knowledge  of  why  she  had  been  dragged  from  her 
peaceful  seclusion.  Ah,  if  her  father  could  only  have 
foreseen  the  results  of  his  plans  for  her  happiness  and 
comfort ;  have  seen  her  standing  up  to  defend  her  hus- 
band's weakness,  and  to  excuse  his  sin  in  marrying  her  ! 

It  wras  a  bitter  moment  to  her — no  one  knew  how 
bitter ;  for,  womanlike,  she  had  striven  to  build  a  pedestal 
on  which  to  set  her  "  lord  and  master " ;  had  searched 
diligently  in  him  for  the  wherewithal  from  which  to 
weave  a  mantle  or  a  veil  of  ideals  to  cover  his  smaller 
faults  and  shade  his  failings;  had  striven  to  raise  him 
high  enough  for  her  to  look  up  to !  And  now — now, 
when  one  manly  word  or  look  would  have  for  ever  put 
him  on  a  higher  level  in  her  heart  and  mind — when  one 
brave,  authoritative  gesture,  even,  would  have  ended  all 
this  impertinent  prying  and  reproof — he  stood  silent,  and 
his  wife  defended  and  despised  him  ! 

Helen  had  been  trained  to  no  charity,  and  so  could 
only  despise  weakness;  she  had  been  taught  no  forgive- 


THE   FELMERES.  185 

ness  of  injuries,  and  so  only  felt  a  contempt  for  the  mean- 
ness which  prompted  them ;  she  had  been  educated  to  no 
paltering  between  right  and  wrong,  only  to  a  straight- 
forward code  of  reason  and  self-control.  She  could  not 
now  pity  Philip,  nor  excuse  his  mother;  and  she  no 
longer  cared  who  knew  the  true  state  of  things.  They 
had  torn  down  the  flimsy  screen  that  hid  their  motives  : 
why  need  she  hide  that  she  despised  both  them  and  their 
actions?  They  were  cruel  to  her;  she  was  careless  of 
their  standing  before  the  world.  Ay,  any  one  and  every 
one  might  think  what  they  pleased  ;  it  was  no  longer  any 
concern  of  hers. 

All  this  she  thought  as  she  stood  looking  round  on 
the  silent  company,  and  her  last  scornful  words  seemed 
still  to  reverberate  through  the  room.  Mrs.  Felmere  sat 
rigid  with  anger ;  Philip  did  not  move ;  and  Mr.  Tol- 
man  felt  a  sharp  pricking  in  his  conscience  that  betokened 
the  truth  in  her  words. 

"You  may  be  right,"  he  said  slowly;  "perhaps  I 
am  to  blame.  I  can  only  pray  God's  forgiveness  for  my 
fault,  and  that  you  may  be  brought  to  a  better  mind." 

Then  he  said  "Good  evening,"  and  walked  away 
through  the  darkness  to  his  home,  with  a  dim  sense  of 
the  folly  in  the  weak  wranglings  and  jealousies  of  theo- 
logians over  non-essential  ecclesiastical  differences,  when 
there  was  opening  in  the  midst  of  them  a  black  abyss  of 
utter  destruction  for  many  wavering  souls ! 

Alas  for  the  blindness  of  theologians  !  Rationalism 
derides  them ;  Judaism  mocks  them ;  Science  pities  them, 
watching  them  as  they  march  to  their  downfall  splitting 
hairs  over  "  real "  or  "  objective  presence,"  over  green  or 
red  altar  cloths,  over  broken  bread  or  wafers ! 


186  THE  FELMERES. 

Whatever  Christ  meant  in  leaving  His  memorial 
among  them,  He  did  not  mean  them  to  battle  over  it ; 
He  did  not  mean  to  raise  strife  and  contention  among 
them ;  He  did  not  mean  for  them  to  let  go  of  peace, 
charity,  love,  patience,  gentleness,  meekness,  long-suffer- 
ing, tenderness,  and  to  take  instead  malice,  envy,  hatred, 
"  and  all  uncharitableness  ! "  Christ  taught  no  such  re- 
ligion as  this ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Bat  standing  apart  as  she  ever  had  done, 
And  her  genius,  which  needed  a  vent,  finding  none 
In  the  hroad  fields  of  action  thrown  wide  to  man's  power, 
She  unconsciously  made  it  her  bulwark  and  tower, 
And  built  in  it  her  refuge,  whence  lightly  she  hurled 
Her  contempt  at  the  fashions  and  forms  of  the  world." 

THE  formal,  irreparable  breach  had  been  made ;  all 
had  chosen  sides,  all  had  shown  their  colors,  and  all 
thought  of  repairing  the  mischief  was  given  up.  Here- 
after there  could  only  be  an  armed  peace,  to  preserve 
which  would  require  the  most  watchful  care.  There  was 
no  forgiving  to  be  done,  for  the  deepest  wound  had  been 
dealt  to  Mrs.  Felmere's  pride,  and  that  is  a  wound  that 
seldom  heals;  almost  anything  else  a  woman  can  forgive, 
but  this  seems  always  to  rankle. 

For  Philip,  Helen  could  now  only  feel  pity,  could  only 
bring  herself  to  a  state  of  endurance ;  what  little  influence 
he  had  possessed  was  entirely  gone,  and  his  words  were  as 
an  idle  wind  in  his  wife's  ears.  For,  in  the  war  of  words 


THE  FELMERES.  1ST 

that  had  swept  over  the  family  on  Sunday  night,  he  had 
not  only  failed  to  defend  his  wife,  but  had  suffered  him- 
self to  be  reprimanded ;  had  allowed  himself  to  be  put 
down  in  the  presence  of  all ;  had  lowered  himself  irre- 
trievably. He  was  now  spoken  of  in  the  family  as  "  poor 
Philip,"  and  in  his  wife's  eyes  he  was  so  "poor"  that, 
ignoring  and  unheeding  him,  she  went  on  her  own  way, 
seemingly  in  a  state  of  quiet  indifference.  All  advice  or 
reproof  from  her  mother-in-law  or  husband  was  listened 
to  in  respectful  silence,  but  quietly  unheeded  when  it  did 
not  suit  her.  She  would  not  consent  to  quarrel,  nor  in 
any  way  allow  herself  to  be  ruffled ;  and  this  to  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere  was  exasperating,  and  her  self-control  was  not  always 
so  perfect  as  to  hide  this  fact.  And  so  between  them,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  "  poor  Philip's  "  life  was  a 
burden ;  for  where  can  any  more  pitiful  position  be 
found  than  a  weak  man  between  two  willful  women  ? 

For  Helen,  however,  the  tiresome  round  of  every-day 
fashionable  life  was  pleasantly  broken  by  Mrs.  Yanzandt, 
Arthur's  friend,  who  since  her  return  had  opened  her 
house  to  the  gay  world  with  much  noise  and  bustle.  She 
and  Helen  had  immediately  exchanged  calls,  and  were 
mutually  pleased,  for  each  found  in  the  other  something 
different  from  the  common  run,  something  fresh  and  in- 
teresting. 

Mrs.  Felmere  saw,  and  was  displeased ;  she  had  no 
love  for  Mrs.  Yanzandt,  who,  though  a  much  younger 
woman  than  herself,  had  of  late  years  been  her  rival  in 
social  matters ;  her  rival  to  the  extent  of  outshining  her 
on  one  or  two  occasions,  and  thus  giving  sufficient  ground 
for  maledictions  and  many  innuendoes  from  Mrs.  Felmere. 
But  Mrs.  Yanzandt  gained  for  herself  the  considera- 


188  THE  FELMERES. 

tion  and  afterward  the  honest  liking  of  Helen.  Above 
all,  Helen  found  in  Mrs.  Vanzandt  a  true  love  for  art, 
with  knowledge  enough  to  really  appreciate  talent  in 
others,  and  the  necessary  kindliness  to  admire  it. 

"  Why  do  you  not  fit  up  a  studio  \ "  she  asked  of 
Helen  one  day  as  they  were  out  together  for  a  drive. 

"My  aunt  dislikes  the  smell  of  paint,"  Helen  an- 
swered. 

Mrs.  Vanzandt's  eyebrows  arched  themselves  in  a  sig- 
nificant manner. 

"  She  used  to  come  often  to  my  studio  and  sit  for 
hours,"  she  said. 

Helen  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  In  such  cases  one 
can  only  acquiesce,"  she  answered. 

"  Very  true,"  her  companion  rejoined,  then  continued 
rapidly :  "  But  you  must  have  some  place  to  work  in. 
If  you  will,  you  may  have  the  room  next  to  my  studio. 
The  light  is  good,  and  as  the  room  stands  it  is  quite  use- 
less to  me.  Will  you  come  ? " 

Helen  was  touched  by  this  unexpected  piece  of  kindly 
interest. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  answered,  "  and  if  you  arc 
sincere  in  your  offer,  I  will  accept  it  with  gratitude." 

"  Gratitude,  indeed,  when  it  is  an  absolute  favor  to 
me !  You  will  make  my  house  a  new  place,  and  soon  fill 
it  with  pleasant  people  for  me ;  I  am  getting  too  old  and 
stupid  to  do  this  for  myself."  And  she  drew  her  pretty 
little  dark  face  out  as  long  as  possible. 

Helen  smiled  as  she  caught  the  queer  little  expression, 
and,  thinking  how  pretty  her  companion  was,  wondered 
what  the  story  of  her  past  life  had  been. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  getting  old,"  Mrs.  Yanzandt  went  on, 


THE  FELMERES.  189 

shaking  her  head  slowly ;  "  and  if  it  were  not  for  my 
hot  suppers  and  a  clattering  tongue,  my  former  friends 
and  admirers  would  be  as  cold  as  charity,  and  poor  Valeria 
Yanzandt  would  be  '  shelved.'  But  so  long  as  I  can  ac- 
ceptably feed  the  men  and  flatter  the  women,  I  can  count 
on  something  this  side  of  neglect." 

Helen  looked  amused  and  puzzled. 

"  Why  do  you  worry  yourself  to  keep  up  friendships 
that  are  based  on  such  low  motives  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  silence, 
then  said  with  mock  gravity : 

"  It  is  really  astonishing  to  hear  a  person  talk  in  so 
wild  a  way  in  this  advanced  age  of  the  world  and  society  ! 
My  dear,  how  old  are  you,  that  you  can  still  foster  such 
delusions  ?  '  Friendship ' — '  low  motives ' — it  is  wonder- 
ful !  Indeed,  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  been  more 
shocked." 

"  Then  why  do  you  value  this  society  and  life  ? "  Helen 
went  on. 

"  What  else  is  there  to  value  ? " 

"  Honest  friendship  and  honest  love." 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  "  I  was  born  many  years 
before  you  were ;  I  have  seen  many  more  phases  of  life 
than  you  will  ever  see ;  I  have  moved  in  much  more  and 
more  various  society  than  you  have ;  and  my  testimony 
is,  that  unless  you  can  enjoy  the  society  of  selfish,  low- 
toned  people,  who  are  for  ever  watching  for  their  own 
interests,  you  had  better  leave  the  world.  And  unless  I 
can  keep  a  chattering,  flattering  tongue  in  my  head,  and 
give  handsome  entertainments,  I  shall  be,  as  I  before  re- 
marked, simply  shelved." 


190  THE   FELMERES. 

"  And  would  you  not  be  willing  to  be  shelved  from 
among  such  people  ? " 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  paused  a  moment,  and  a  sadder  look 
came  over  her  face  as  she  answered : 

"What  else  have  I?" 

"Can  you  not  make  some  higher  aim  for  your- 
self?" 

"  Can  you  make  rope  out  of  sand,  or  '  bricks  without 
straw '  ?  It  is  my  life,  child — this  same  mean,  self-seek- 
ing world — and  I  can  not  do  without  it." 

"  Have  you  not  your  religion  ? "  Helen  went  on  in  a 
lower  tone. 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  turned  quite  round  to  look  at  her. 

"  My  dear,  you  continually  shock  me  from  my  self- 
control.  What  do  you  mean  by  such  an  attack  ?  Has 
'  Chadband '  Tolman  converted  you  ?  I  hope  not  sincere- 
ly, for  you  are  a  better  Christian  than  any  of  us.  But 
since  you  ask  me,  I  make  you  the  same  answer  I  made 
the  Reverend  T.  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  wear  my  Sun- 
day clothes  all  the  week.  I  should  die  of  melancholy  if  I 
were  to  indulge  in  religion  all  the  time." 

Helen  sighed.  This  beautiful  religion  she  had  almost 
longed  for,  how  different  its  effects  were  from  what  she 
had  imagined ! 

"  My  experience  has  been  small,"  she  said  after  a  little 
pause,  "but  it  has  been  enough  to  make  me  long  for  the 
seclusion  of  my  early  youth." 

"  I  can  readily  believe  you,"  Mrs.  Yanzandt  answered, 
"  and  pity  you,  too — at  least,  your  awakening." 

"I  fortunately  did   not  expect  much,"  Helen  said. 


THE   FELMERES.  191 

Then  she  quite  changed  the  subject  by  asking  who  was 
the  most  rising  artist. 

"  There  are  several  of  them  who  stand  nearly  abreast," 
Mrs.  Yanzandt  answered,  "  but  there  is  one  young  man 
who  bids  fair  to  distance  them  all ;  and  now  that  I  reckon 
up,  he  is  no  longer  such  a  youth.  Gordon — Felix  Gor- 
don." 

At  last  she  had  heard  of  him  ;  at  last  the  hunger  of 
her  ears  was  satisfied  with  the  echo  of  his  fame  that 
reached  her !  But  it  was  harder  to  listen  to  than  she 
imagined  it  would  be,  and  she  had  to  turn  and  look  out 
of  the  carriage  window. 

"He  is  almost  a  genius,"  Mrs.  Yanzandt  went  on, 
"  and  such  a  nice  dear  fellow — at  least  he  was  when  I 
knew  him  several  years  ago.  I  hear  he  has  changed  a 
great  deal  of  late." 

"  How  long  have  you  known  him  ? "  Helen  asked ; 
"  and  how  long  is  it  since  he  became  known  to  the  pub- 
lic?" 

"Let  me  see,"  and  Mrs.  Yanzandt  paused  reflective- 
ly; "I  have  known  him  off  and  on  for  seven  years  ;  but 
he  has  only  been  known  to  the  public  in  the  last  five. 
His  first  real  success  was  a  picture  called  '  King  Arthur.' 
I  think  your  husband  bought  it,  did  he  not  ? " 

"  Yes,"  Helen  answered,  "  he  did ;  but  where  is  Mr. 
Gordon  now  ? "  She  found  it  more  difficult  than  she  had 
expected  to  speak  of  him  quietly. 

"  I  do  not  know  exactly.  He  is  a  wandering,  uncer- 
tain sort  of  creature ;  you  can  never  be  sure  of  him  for  a 
day ;  but  he  usually  puts  up  one  fine  picture  for  sale  each 
winter,  and  they  always  sell.  But  is  it  not  time  to  turn 
toward  home  ?  Remember  Mrs.  Tilmont's  to-night." 


192  THE  FELMERES. 

So  the  horses  were  stopped  in  their  stately  pacings 
around  the  park,  and  turned  homeward ;  and  Helen,  pon- 
dering on  what  she  had  heard,  sat  silent  and  let  her  com- 
panion talk. 

So  at  any  time  and  in  any  place  she  might  meet  Felix 
Gordon ;  people  knew  him,  and  he  was  sought  after  and 
admired.  Indeed,  she  might  meet  Felix  that  very  night ; 
for  were  not  the  Tilmonts,  strictly  speaking,  blind  follow- 
ers of  Mrs.  Yanzandt,  always  trying  to  have  at  their  en- 
tertainments the  same  sort  of  people  that  Mrs.  Yanzandt 
had?. 

With  these  and  such-like  thoughts  haunting  her,  Hel- 
en went  through  the  ordeal  of  dinner  almost  in  silence ; 
usually  so  impatient  of  the  state  and  stupidity  of  this 
meal,  she  to-day  scarcely  noticed  them.  At  last  Philip, 
becoming  annoyed  at  her  silence,  spoke  to  her  directly 
on  the  subject. 

"  Are  you  ill,"  he  asked,  "  that  you  are  so  silent  ? " 

"  Am  I  unusually  so  ? "  Helen  answered,  with  the  tone 
and  manner  of  one  stepping  out  of  absorbing  dreams. 
"  I  was  not  aware  of  it."  Then,  after  vainly  searching 
among  her  thoughts  for  something  to  say,  she  ventured 
upon  the  remark : 

"1  suppose  we  go  to  the  Tilmonts'  at  ten." 

"  I  am  not  going,"  Philip  answered  rather  shortly  ; 
"  I  have  a  headache." 

"  Indeed  ?  I  am  very  sorry."  Then  Helen  turned  to 
Mrs.  Felmere :  "  You  will  go,  of  course." 

"And  leave  Philip  sick?"  Mrs.  Felmere  asked  se- 
verely. 

"  I  supposed  that  with  a  headache  he  would  prefer 
being  left  alone,"  Helen  answered  quietly ;  then  turning 


THE   FELMERES.  193 

to  the  servant  said  :  "  Tell  Andrew  to  have  the  carriage 
by  nine,  and  you  come  to  me  for  a  note." 

"  Are  you  going  ? "  Philip  asked  as  the  servant  left 
the  room. 

"  Yes.  I  will  send  for  Arthur ;  he  never  has  any  en- 
gagements, and  will  be  glad  to  escort  me."  And  she  rose 
to  leave  the  room. 

"Can  you  not  stay  at  home  one  evening?"  Philip 
went  on  almost  fretfully. 

"  I  suppose  I  could  if  I  liked,"  she  answered,  "  but 
why  shoiild  I? " 

"  Because  I  am  not  well,"  he  continued,  as  he  swal- 
lowed a  glass  of  wine. 

Helen  waited  until  he  had  finished,  then  said  provok- 
ingly : 

"  If  that  is  true,  so  much  wine  is  not  good  for  you." 
And,  not  waiting  for  further  discussion,  she  left  the 
room.  Since  her  afternoon's  conversation  with  Mrs.  Yau- 
zandt,  she  felt  as  though  she  would  not  for  any  considera- 
tion miss  an  entertainment  where  there  was  the  remotest 
chance  of  meeting  Felix  Gordon ;  she  had  been  watching 
and  waiting  for  all  these  days  and  weeks  for  even  a  men- 
tion of  his  name,  and  now  that  she  had  heard  it  the  long- 
ing to  see  him  redoubled  itself.  She  took  great  pleasure 
in  dressing  for  Mrs.  Tilmont's,  and  bestowed  more  than 
usual  care  on  her  adornment ;  and  when  she  had  finished, 
she  surely  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  her  success. 

Before  the  last  touches  had  been  given,  Philip  came 
in  fully  dressed  and  equipped  for  the  ball.  Helen 
looked  up  quickly  from  what  she  was  doing. 

"  Have  you  recovered  ? "  she  asked. 

"No,"  he  answered  severely,  "but  I  prefer  taking 
9 


194  THE   FELMEEES. 

you  myself,  sick  as  I  am,  to  allowing  you  to  go  with  any 
chance  person." 

His  wife  smiled. 

"  Your  own  uncle  ? "  she  said. 

"  So  he  may  be,"  and  as  he  spoke,  Philip's  manner 
became  majestic ;  "  but  that  does  not  exempt  liim  from 
observations  in  the  town." 

"  Is  your  mother  going  ? "  Helen  went  on,  stepping 
carelessly  over  the  subject  of  Arthur. 

"No." 

She  sighed  as  though  relieved,  and,  giving  Philip  her 
fan  and  flowers,  led  the  way  down  to  the  parlor,  where 
Arthur  sat  waiting. 

"  She  is  too  beautiful ! "  said  one  of  a  group  of  gen- 
tlemen, as  Helen  passed  into  the  ball-room  ;  "  and  to  be 
tied  to  Phil  Felmere  must  be  awful  to  her." 

The  man  he  was  speaking  to  was  Felix  Gordon,  who, 
turning  quickly,  saw  Helen,  magnificent  in  jewels  and 
satin,  sweep  by  him.  Her  dress  touched  him,  the  per- 
fume of  her  flowers  floated  about  him,  and  the  music 
of  her  voice  as  she  spoke  to  some  one  near  at  hand 
drowned  all  the  voices  and  laughter.  He  had  in  a  mo- 
ment gone  back  far,  so  far  into  that  fair  dead  summer ! 
If  she  had  been  beautiful  to  him  then  in  her  simple  white 
dresses  and  plainly  braided  hair,  what  was  she  now !  She 
carried  her  jewels  and  her  laces  with  regal  stateliness,  and 
yet  as  if  unconscious  of  their  splendor.  In  the  years  that 
had  passed  since  Felix  last  saw  her,  her  beauty  had  be- 
come thoughtful  and  more  soul-full;  and  to  Felix  the 
proud  coldness  which  hung  about  her  added  a  strong 
charm. 


THE   FELMERES.  195 

He  watched  her  as  she  made  her  slow  progress  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  room ;  he  watched  her  make  her  saluta- 
tions to  her  hostess;  and  then  she  turned  so  that  her 
beauty  shone  full  upon  him.  He  drew  nearer,  stationing 
himself  just  outside  the  circle  of  which  she  was  the  cen- 
ter ;  unseen  by  her,  he.  stood  close  to  her,  watching  the 
play  of  her  features,  the  changing  expressions  that  flitted 
across  her  face,  the  expressive  gestures  that  almost  told 
him  what  she  was  saying. 

It  was  a  happy  moment — a  moment  that  made  his 
heart  leap ;  but  he  could  not  stand  it  long.  Should  he 
go  and  speak  to  her?  Should  he  not  rather  go  away 
and  leave  her  undisturbed  in  the  careless  enjoyment  she 
seemed  to  find  in  her  present  life  ? 

"  Felmere  watches  her  like  a  cat,"  said  a  voice  near 
him. 

Felix  started ! 

"  "Where  is  Mr.  Felmere  ? "  he  asked. 

"  That  short,  light-haired  man  just  behind  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere." 

And  Felix,  looking,  found  "the  light-haired  man" 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  him.  Look  for  look  they  gave 
each  other;  then  Philip  spoke  to  Helen,  and  she,  raising 
her  eyes,  met  the  one  face  in  the  world  she  cared  for ! 
After  so  long  a  time,  after  such  hungry  longings,  after 
such  vain  struggles,  they  met  at  last ! 

And  Philip,  watching,  saw  in  that  instant  a  look  come 
over  his  wife's  face  he  had  never  seen  before ;  so  gentle, 
so  longing,  so  bitterly  sad.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Never 
had  that  beautiful  face  so  softened,  never  had  those  shin- 
ing, liquid  eyes  so  yearned  for  him. 

But  he  need  not  have  feared.     That  one  look  was  all ; 


196  THE  FELMERES. 

then  Felix  turned  away  and  went  out  into  the  cold  dark- 
ness of  the  street,  and  into  his  narrow  life  that  seemed  so 
empty — turned  away,  for  he  felt  he  was  not  strong  enough 
to  stand  and  fight. 

And  as  Helen  saw  him  turn  away  and  knew  that  he 
had  gone,  a  desert  emptiness  and  silence  seemed  to  reign 
throughout  the  rooms — an  emptiness  and  blackness  of 
darkness ! 

"  Who  was  it  ? "  Philip  asked  in  her  ear. 

She  started  from  her  thoughts. 

"  Felix  Gordon,"  she  answered,  with  an  unconscious 
lingering  on  the  syllables  of  his  name. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ? "  Philip  went  on. 

"  I  did  know  him." 

"When?" 

"  Five  years  ago." 

"Where?" 

"  At  Felmere ;  he  spent  the  summer  there." 

"  After  I  was  there  ? " 

"Yes." 

Then  Philip  stopped.  She  had  answered  his  ques- 
tions so  quietly,  so  unevasively,  that  he  was  afraid  to 
go  on — afraid  to  go  deeper  and  find  out  that  something 
more  which  he  felt  sure  was  under  all  this,  and  which  he 
could  not  reach  without  a  point-blank .  revelation  of  his 
suspicions.  And  should  he  question  further,  would  she 
scorch  him  with  one  of  those  surprised,  pitying  glances 
she  sometimes  gave  him ;  or  would  she  answer  with  her 
cool,  literal  honesty,  and  confirm  his  fears  ?  Alas !  he 
feared  the  latter ;  feared  a  quiet  "  Yes  "  that  would  make 
him  more  than  miserable;  feared  the  indifferent  "of 
course"  sort  of  look  that  would  come  with  it,  killing 


THE  FELMERES.  197 

more  utterly,  if  that  were  possible,  all  hope  of  her  ever 
caring  for  him — this  woman  who  owed  him  her  love ! 

He  watched  her  as  she  moved  amid  the  dance,  always 
a  prominent  figure,  always  the  leader  of  any  company 
she  entered — the  admired,  the  brilliant,  the  fascinating 
woman  whom  he  owned,  but  that  was  all !  As  he  watched 
her,  he  almost  felt  willing  that  she  should  have  been  the 
wife  of  any  other  man  if  she  would  look  at  him  as  she 
had  done  at  Gordon.  Ah,  he  hated  Gordon  ! 

He  leaned  against  the  door-post  revolving  many  things 
in  his  mind,  while  he  followed  his  wife's  every  move- 
ment. He  always  did  that  now — some  said  from  jeal- 
ousy, some  said  from  love ;  but  no  one  rightly  knew.  If 
Helen  would  dance  with  him,  he  would  dance,  but  not 
else :  he  made  no  engagements  save  with  her,  and  these 
he  made  as  diligently  as  any  stranger  would  have  done  ; 
and  she  treated  him  very  much  as  she  did  her  common 
acquaintances. 

"  A  queer  couple,"  the  world  said ;  and  the  men 
called  her  the  "  coolest  hand  on  record." 

So  Philip  stood  and  tortured  himself  until  his  turn 
came  to  dance  with  her ;  then,  after  no  little  elbowing,  he 
managed  to  make  his  way  through  the  circle  of  which  she 
was  the  center,  and  to  catch  her  attention. 

"  Is  not  this  my  dance  ? "  he  said,  in  the  same  con- 
ventional tone  that  every  one  else  used  to  her. 

And  she,  looking  up  with  the  careless  look  that  is 
common  on  such  occasions,  answered,  "  Yes,  I  think  it 
is,"  and  went  away  with  him. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  the  mystery  of  that  match," 
said  one  of  the  circle  she  had  left  as  he  watched  her  go 
off. 


198  THE  FELMERES. 

"  There  is  no  mystery  in  it,"  was  the  reply ;  "  she  mar- 
ried him  for  his  money." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that,"  said  a  third  ;  "  for  she  had 
money  of  her  own.  More  than  that,  she  is  too  proud  and 
too  honest  to  so  deceive  any  one.  I  would  take  that 
woman's  word  against  all  odds." 

"  Then  why  did  she  marry  him  ? "  asked  the  second 
speaker. 

"  I  can  not  tell,  I  am  sure,  but  certainly  from  some 
higher  motive  than  money." 

And  the  first  speaker,  agreeing,  said : 

"  I  prefer  mystery  to  such  a  solution  ;  for  I  have  never 
met  a  woman  who  answered  so  perfectly  my  ideal  as  this 
one.  Only  one  thing  she  lacks — softness;  and  if  she 
loved  her  husband,  she  would  have  that." 

"  You  are  quite  eloquent,"  said  a  bystander  who  had 
hitherto  been  a  silent  listener. 

"  It  is  but  natural  I  should  be,  with  such  a  text." 

The  speaker  was  a  middle-aged  man  with  an  honest, 
earnest  face,  and  evidently  meant  all  he  said ;  and  he  now 
stood  watching  Helen  with  a  sad,  kindly,  almost  fatherly 
look  in  his  eyes. 

"  She  is  magnificent ! "  said  the  second  speaker ;  "  but 
I  would  prefer  a  little  religion  in  my  wife.  Women 
ought  to  be  religious — I  can  not  trust  one  who  is  not ;  and 
this  woman  deals  in  the  most  bold  unbelief." 

"  I  noticed  that  she  flung  you  in  that  last  argument," 
his  middle-aged  companion  observed  a  little  maliciously. 

"  So  she  did,  and  cleverly  too ;  but  I  would  not  like  a 
wife  who  could  do  that  sort  of  thing."  His  answer  was 
honest,  and  a  little  laugh  from  the  listeners  followed  it. 

"  Well,"  said  the  middle-aged  gentleman,  "  if  she  loved 


THE   FELMERES.  199 

me,  I  would  marry  her,  metaphysics,  skeptcism,  and  all, 
though  I  have  never  yearned  for  a  metaphysical  wife ;  for 
if  that  woman  loved  you,  she  would  do  it  without  stint 
and  with  the  blindest  faith." 

"I  wonder,"  said  the  second  speaker,  "if  she  has  ever 
had  a  love-scrape  ?  She  does  not  look  it." 

"  I  venture  to  say  she  has,"  answered  Helen's  middle- 
aged  champion,  "for  she  has  the  saddest  eyes  I  ever 
looked  into.  They  go  all  through  me." 

And  Helen,  waltzing  with  Philip,  did  at  that  moment 
look  at  him  with  those  same  sad  eyes,  and  say: 

"  Yes,  Philip,  I  loved  him,  but  I  could  not  help  it." 

"  And  now  ?  "  Philip  went  on,  with  a  white  shadow 
creeping  over  his  face. 

"Yes." 

That  was  all — honest,  quiet,  irrevocable !  utterly  damn- 
ing to  all  his  hopes,  perfect  death  to  all  his  happiness, 
small  as  it  had  been. 

He  escorted  her  to  a  seat,  then  left  her ;  and  she, 
watching  him  go,  felt  in  her  heart  a  deep  pity  for  him, 
and  for  the  mistake  he  had  made — made  in  spite  of  her 
warnings  and  his  own  common  sense. 


200  THE   FELMERES. 


CHAPTER   Y. 

"  So  I  have  said,  and  I  say  it  over, 

And  can  prove  it  over  and  over  again, 
That  the  four-footed  beasts  on  the  red-crowned  clover, 

The  pied  and  horned  beasts  on  the  plain, 

That  lie  down,  rise  up,  and  repose  again, 
And  do  never  take  care  or  toil  or  spin, 

Nor  buy,  nor  build,  nor  gather  in  gold, 
Though  the  days  go  out  and  the  tides  come  in, 

Are  better  than  we  by  a  thousand  fold ; 
For  what  is  it  all,  in  the  words  of  fire, 
.  But  a  vexing  of  soul  and  a  vain  desire  ?  " 

So  Philip,  bitterly  unhappy,  went  about  his  daily 
tasks.  He  did  not  have  even  the  excitement  of  watch- 
ing her,  for  Helen  was  very  honest — almost  too  honest, 
he  thought ;  she  told  her  secret  too  readily,  too  much  as 
though  it  were  a  matter  of  course  that  she  should  not  love 
Philip.  No,  there  was  no  use  in  watching  her,  for  what- 
ever she  did  she  would  do  openly.  The  misery  was  that 
he  did  not  know  what  she  would  do  ;  for,  since  she  did 
not  love  him,  he  had  no  hold  over  her.  He  did  not  know 
the  promise  she  had  made  her  father  ;  he  did  not  know 
that  she  had  been  trained  never  to  diverge  from  her  word 
once  given ;  he  had  not  learned  that  her  whole  nature 
tended  upward  ;  and  he  could  not  comprehend  in  its 
fullness  the  truth  of  the  character  he  had  to  deal  with. 
He  only  Isnew  that,  unless  she  so  willed  it,  there  were  no 
laws  on  earth  that  could  bind  her. 

Helen,  meanwliile,  entered  into  every  species  of  gaye- 


THE   FELMERES.  201 

ty — longing  and  hoping  to  see  Felix  again,  yet  all  the 
while  dreading  to  meet  him,  and  glad  that  he  did  not 
come.  She  had  accepted  Mrs.  Yanzandt's  offer,  and  had 
furnished  for  herself  a  studio  in  her  house,  spending  there 
much  of  her  time.  It  was  not  long  before  she  became 
known  among  a  certain  artist  circle,  who  found  her  studio 
a  pleasant  resort,  a  place  where  they  could  meet  infor- 
mally and  talk  on  the  subject  that  most  pleased  them. 

Mrs.  Felmere  watched  this  growing  intimacy  with 
much  wrath — wrath  that  was  not  silent.  Helen  listened 
politely  to  all  she  had  to  say  on  the  subject,  all  the  while 
surmising  that  Mrs.  Felmere's  chief  cause  of  disapproval 
lay  in  the  fact  that  Philip's  wife,  who  had  been  for  many 
years  held  back  as  the  best  card  in  her  hand,  should  go 
to  complete  Mrs.  Yanzandt's  victory  in  making  her  house 
and  entertainments  more  than  ever  popular.  It  was 
doubtless  very  aggravating,  but  it  was,  Helen  thought, 
Mrs.  Felmere's  own  fault.  The  conversations  on  these 
matters  were  frequent  and  long,  and  Helen,  when  escape 
was  out  of  the  question,  listened  with  patient  but  heed- 
less ears.  Finally  things  came  to  a  crisis,  and  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere turned  the  force  of  her  attack  on  Philip :  it  was 
his  duty,  she  said,  to  change  the  state  of  things,  to  break 
up  this  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Yanzandt ;  indeed,  if  neces- 
sary, to  compel  her  to  a  different  course.  Philip,  as  his 
wife  had  done,  listened  quietly  until  she  finished ;  then, 
with  more  wisdom  than  courage,  declined  to  say  or  do 
anything  in  the  matter,  and  strongly  advised  his  mother 
to  let  things  alone. 

Mrs.  Felmere  shook  her  head  :  that  was  not  the  way 
to  manage  so  contumacious  a  person;  strong  measures 
must  be  taken.  Determined  not  to  be  baffled,  she  made 


202  THE  FELMERES. 

her  plans  to  attack  tliem  at  dinner,  where  they  could 
neither  avoid  each  other  nor  escape  her.  She  patiently 
awaited  her  opportunity ;  then,  deliberately  dismissing 
the  servant,  began  her  lecture. 

"  Philip,  I  have  for  some  time  watched  and  warned 
Helen  about  her  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Yanzandt ;  but  as 
she  pays  no  heed  to  my  advice,  I  think  it  will  be  better, 
perhaps,  if  you  will  speak  to  her." 

Helen  sipped  her  wine  gravely,  and  Philip,  looking 
diligently  into  the  bottom  of  his  empty  glass,  said  slowly : 

"  What  shall  I  say,  mother  ? " 

"  Say  that  you  do  not  approve,"  she  answered  sharply. 

"  Helen  already  knows  that,"  he  went  on  as  he  filled 
his  glass. 

"  If  either  of  you  will  show  me  any  reason  in  your 
objections,"  Helen  said  quietly,  "  I  will  heed  them." 

"  Any  reason !  "  Mrs.  Felmere  exclaimed.  "  Do  you 
forget  how  often  I  have  told  you  that  Mrs.  Yanzandt  has 
been  talked  about,  and  that  she  is  not  a  proper  person-? " 

"  And  yet,"  Helen  rejoined,  "  I  found  her  a  leader  in 
your  circle,  a  visitor  in  all  the  best  houses  in  town,  a  high 
member  of  your  own  especial  church, »and,  more  than  all, 
much  admired  by  Mr.  Tolman.  How  is  she  improper  ? " 

"She  makes  herself  conspicuous  on  all  occasions," 
Mrs.  Felmere  answered  angrily,  "  fills  her  house  with  all 
sorts  of  unknown  people,  and  is  continually  doing  queer 
things." 

"  And  still  I  see  no  wrong,"  Helen  said. 

Mrs.  Felmere  looked  indignantly  at  her  silent  son. 

""Will  you  say  nothing? "  she  asked. 

Philip  shook  his  head.  "It  is  useless  for  me  to 
speak,"  he  said. 


THE  FELMERES.  203 

"  I  should  be  ashamed  to  acknowledge  it,"  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere  retorted ;  then  turning  to  Helen,  she  went  on  : 
"  For  you,  Helen,  I  have  no  more  words.  Your  sense  of 
propriety  seems  never  to  have  been  cultivated ;  and  if 
Philip  will  not  use  his  lawful  authority  in  this  matter, 
why  then  the  world  will  have  to  talk — I  can  not  help  it." 

"  Why  should  people  talk  ? "  Helen  asked  quietly. 

"  Because  it  has  not  been  the  custom  for  women  to 
have  studios,  and  art  receptions,  and — " 

"  And  does  custom  make  right  and  wrong  ? "  Helen 
interrupted  gravely.  "  Must  I  bind  my  life  between  two 
dead  unwavering  lines  in  order  that  I  may  suit  the  cus- 
toms inaugurated  by  people  who  are  possibly,  if  not  prob- 
ably, idiots  ?  Why  can  I  not  make  customs  for  myself  ? 
why  can  I  not  make  these  little  art  gatherings  a  custom  ? 
They  are  sensible  and  pleasant,  and  can  have  no  possible 
harm  in  them.  They  clash  with  no  known  code  of  mor- 
als ;  are  better  than  this  '  going  from  house  to  house  to 
hear  and  tell  some  new  thing '  that  is  called  among  us 
'  visiting ' ;  and  are,  besides  all  this,  instructive.  Indeed, 
aunt,  I  can  see  no  reason  in  your  objections." 

"  Of  course,"  Mrs.  Felmere  said  in  an  injured  tone ; 
"  when  people  utterly  disregard  everything  but  their  owyn 
will  and  pleasure,  they  had  best  be  let  alone ;  but  I  thank 
God,  there  are  some  who  sometimes  consider  the  happi- 
ness of  others ! " 

"  And  allow  them  to  enjoy  themselves  in  their  own 
way,"  Helen  rejoined  quietly.  "  And  I  can  not  see, 
aunt,"  she  continued,  "  why  I  need,  cut  my  life  down  to 
suit  the  ideas  of  everybody,  making  it  a  long  battle  and 
burden  in  order  to  conform  to  opinions  for  which  I  do 
not  care.  You  know,  as  does  all  the  world  as  far  as  the 


201  THE  FELMEEES. 

world  knows  me,  that  for  me  there  is  no  after-life,  no 
reward  nor  any  punishment ;  the  grave  ends  all !  Why, 
then,  fret  out  my  only  life  against  all  the  little  stones  of 
custom  and  prejudice  ?  "Why  not  let  it  flow  on  as  quietly 
as  it  may,  so  that  when  death  comes  I  shall  be  as  well  off 
as  most  ?  You  may  never  have  looked  at  my  life  and  at 
me  from  this  standpoint ;  you  may  never  before  have 
taken  these  things  into  consideration  when  you  strove  to 
coerce  me  into  your  forms  and  fashions ;  but  now  I  beg 
you  to  think  of  them,  and  in  judging  me  remember  that, 
believing  in  no  hereafter,  I  do  not  see  the  profit  in  wear- 
ing out  this  little  span  of  which  I  am  possessed  in  prac- 
ticing self-sacrifice.  I  ask  nothing  either  of  the  world  or 
fate,  and  I  fear  neither." 

Mrs.  Felmere  listened  with  widening  eyes  as  the  quiet 
voice  went  on,  so  grave,  so  cold  !  She  had  never  before 
realized  the  girl's  position ;  she  had  never  imagined  the 
depth  and  scope  of  her  unbelief;  she  had  never  known 
the  width  of  the  gulf  that  separated  them !  She  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and,  as  the  soft  voice  ceased, 
burst  into  tears  and  left  the  room.  Philip  sprang  up  and 
followed  her,  and  Helen,  touched  and  surprised  by  these 
signs  of  feeling  from  her  aunt,  went  after  them  into  the 
parlor,  where  Philip  was  striving  to  comfort  her. 

"  Aunt,"  Helen  said  gently,  bending  over  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere, "  if  I  have  said  anything  to  wound  you,  I  am 
sorry." 

Mrs.  Felmere  started  away  from  her.  "  Leave  me !  " 
she  cried — "  leave  me !  You  are  enough  to  bring  God's 
curse  down  on  this  house  !  What  have  I  done — what 
have  I  done,  to  be  so  punished  \  God  forgive  me  for 
harboring  such  a  creature !  " 


THE  FELMEEES.  205 

Helen  stepped  back,  and,  looking  at  Philip's  white 
face,  she  said  no  word — she  was  too  sorry  for  him. 

In  her  own  room,  while  her  maid  laid  out  her  jewels 
and  dress  for  a  reception  at  Mrs.  Yanzandt's,  she  pon- 
dered over  what  had  occurred.  How  strange  a  God  was 
this,  who  would  curse  one  for  the  sin  of  another !  Poor, 
weak-minded,  superstitious  people  !  she  felt  very  pitiful 
for  them.  Then  a  wild  glad  hope  sprang  up  within  her 
heart  that  Philip  would  send  her  away.  Ah,  she  would 
ask  nothing  more  than  to  quietly  go  back  to  Fclmere  and 
live  at  peace ;  she  was  weary  of  this  eternal  contention 
and  enmity — weary  of  her  whole  life  ! 

She  was  at  length  dressed,  and,  Philip  declining  to  go, 
drove  oif  alone.  The  rooms  were  crowded  with  a  bril- 
liant assemblage  of  the  very  best  people  ;  music,  flowers, 
lights,  all  beautiful.  Every  one  seemed  to  be  enjoying 
thoroughly  all  that  had  been  arranged  for  their  pleasure, 
and  Mrs.  Vanzandt  seemed  everywhere  at  once. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  was  her  greeting  to  Helen,  "  you  do 
not  know  what  has  been  done  for  you ;  you  do  not  know 
that  you  have  been  immortalized ;  and  yet  the  town, 
which  means  { our  set,'  is  ringing  with  it." 

"  I  do  not  understand ! "  Helen  said  in  much  bewil- 
derment. 

"  Of  course  you  do  not,  but  follow  me  and  you 
will  understand."  And  she  led  the  way  into  a  small 
side  room,  where  a  crowd  were  collected  round  a  picture 
artistically  lighted  up  and  draped  with  red  velvet  cur- 
tains. 

"I  found  it  yesterday  at  Pittelli's,"  Mrs.  Vanzandt 
continued ;  "  it  had  just  been  unpacked  when  I  entered 
and  saw  it;  most  mysterious  affair — artist  desires  his 


206  THE  FELMERES. 

name  to  be  concealed.  Of  course  I  ordered  it  home  im- 
mediately. Is  it  not  beautiful  ? " 

Helen  paused  astonished,  for  she  stood  facing  herself 
as  "Guinevere"! — Guinevere  taunting  Lancelot  and 
casting  his  diamonds  into  the  river.  On  the  beautiful 
stately  face  there  was  a  world  of  mingled  love  and  pride, 
woe  and  passion !  and  Helen,  gazing  in  silence,  knew  the 
hand  from  which  it  came,  and  listened  half  consciously  to 
the  wild  surmises  spoken  round  her. 

Slowly  she  turned  away,  with  a  dull  pain  gathering 
about  her  heart  that  Felix  could  have  conceived  her  such 
as  this  willful,  weak  woman ! 

"  Do  you  not  like  it  ? "  Mrs.  Yanzandt  asked,  watch- 
ing her  closely. 

"  No,"  Helen  answered  gravely ;  and  people  listening, 
especially  the  women,  thought  her  foolish  not  to  enjoy 
the  distinction.  But  among  the  crowd  there  was  one 
man — the  middle-aged  man  who  so  admired  her — who 
was  pleased  with  her  action  and  words ;  he  surmised  a 
portion  of  her  feelings,  but  only  that  portion  he  expected 
from  her  as  a  high-toned,  pure-minded  woman.  She  did 
not  like  the  character ;  she  did  not  like  the  notoriety.  He 
could  not  guess  that  the  chief  bitterness  lay  in  the  thought 
that  the  only  man — the  only  soul,  in  fact — for  whose 
respect  and  love  she  cared,  could  have  so  painted  her ! 

Alas,  "and  also  this  fell  into  dust" ! 

But  the  world  only  saw  enough  of  her  sadness  to  put 
it  down  to  displeasure  that  she  should  have  been  made  so 
conspicuous :  her  friends  were  pleased  that  this  should  be 
so ;  her  detractors  put  it  down  to  affectation. 

"  A  thoroughly  wicked  woman  according  to  his  code," 
she  thought ;  "  and  if  he  ranged  her  so  low,  what  need  to 


THE  FELMERES.  207 

care  for  the  rest  of  the  world !  '  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry, 
for  to-morrow  ye  die ! '  Even  so.  Her  life,  as  far  as  hap- 
piness went,  was  a  failure,  why  not  substitute  excitement, 
and  so  dull  the  pain  ? "  And  she  did  it. 

She -quietly  put  her  husband  and  mother-in-law  aside, 
and  took  the  lead  :  she  threw  open  the  house,  and  began 
a  series,  seemingly  endless,  of  the  most  brilliant  entertain- 
ments. Her  toilets  were  magnificent,  and  the  bills  ruin- 
ous !  A  reckless,  brilliant,  beautiful  woman  —  where 
would  it  end ! 

The  family,  meanwhile,  stood  looking  on  in  amaze- 
ment. Mrs.  Felmere  would  have  liked  nothing  better 
than  all  this  parade  and  show,  if  she  had  been  given  the 
lead ;  but,  that  being  taken  and  held  by  the  daughter, 
Mrs.  Felmere  became  virtuously  indignant,  and  with  the 
rest  of  the  feminine  Jourdans  set  up  a  piteous  wail  over 
"  poor  Philip  "  and  his  "  heathen  wife  "  ! 

But  the  "heathen  wife"  did  not  heed  them,  and 
"  poor  Philip,"  miserable  and  morbid,  raised  not  so  much 
as  a  finger  to  stop  or  rectify  things. 

So  time  slipped  by,  and  the  days,  and  the  weeks,  and 
the  months  swept  on  to  make  the  unhappy  years ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Nay,  but  Nature  brings  thee  solace ;  for  a  tender  voice  will  cry. 
'Tis  a  purer  life  tban  thine ;  a  life  to  drain  thy  trouble  dry." 

AND  so,  amid  all  the  sorrow  and  trouble  of  their  lives, 
a  son  was  born  to  them — a  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  child, 
strong  and  straight  of  limb,  and  lusty  as  a  country  child 


208  THE   FELMERES. 

might  be.  And  through  the  fresh  May-time,  when  Helen 
lay  quiet  and  thoughtful,  so  happy  in  this  fresh  happiness 
that  had  come  to  her  with  the  child  that  lay  on  her  arm, 
life  seemed  to  have  a  new  meaning,  and  for  Philip  there 
grew  up  within  her  a  gentler  feeling.  Poor  Philip !  his 
life  had  told  on  him. 

But  with  Mrs.  Felmere  the  horror  of  Helen's  unbelief, 
and  the  almost  hatred  she  felt  against  her  for  her  beauty 
and  success,  and  rebellion  against  control,  grew  daily.  It 
was  a  bitterness  to  her  that  her  son  seemed  to  be  again 
learning  to  care  for  his  wife,  and  in  a  more  hopeful  way ; 
it  must  not  be.  It  was  a  sin  to  live  with  this  woman  and 
allow  her  to  rear  his  children — a  deadly  sin,  and  one  that 
she  could  not  stand  by  and  see  committed !  She  kept 
herself  aloof  from  Helen  and  the  child,  ever  brooding 
over  the  failure  of  her  schemes  and  hopes,  and  making 
new  plans  for  the  future.  She  determined,  for  one  thing, 
that  Helen  and  the  child  should  go  away  for  the  summer, 
and  that  she  should  stay  in  town  with  Philip.  This  would 
give  her  full  opportunity  to  strengthen  and  regain  her 
old  influence  over  her  son;  afterward  she  could  mold 
tilings  to  her  will. 

So,  as  she  had  determined,  Helen  spent  that  summer 
on  the  sea-shore,  in  a  quiet  cottage  far  out  from  the  gayer 
portion  of  the  watering-place,  and  down  near  the  beach. 
She  was  glad  to  go ;  glad  to  leave  behind  her  the  fret  and 
turmoil  of  her  city  life ;  glad  to  be  where  she  could  sit 
and  watch  the  great  waves  rolling  in  and  dashing  high 
against  the  cliffs  to  fall  back  in  snowy  foam.  She  was 
glad  once  more  to  greet  the  deep  sad  voice '  that  had 
sounded  round  old  Felmere  through  all  the  lonely  sunny 
days  and  long  still  nights  of  her  young  life — the  deep  sad 


THE  FELMERES.  209 

voice  that,  singing  to  her  through  all  her  childhood,  had 
made  life  seem  a  rhythmical  mystery.  Sitting  near  the 
window  in  the  dusky  summer  evenings,  listening  to  the 
sweet  old  song  of  her  early  days,  and  feeling  the  soft 
breath  of  her  little  one  come  and  go  as  he  slept  in  her 
arms,  she  thought  often  and  regretfully  of  her  own 
mother.  Now  that  she  realized  what  a  mother's  love 
was,  there  came  a  softer  feeling  in  her  heart  for  her. 
Suppose  some  harm  or  danger  should  threaten  this  child, 
imaginary  or  not,  would  she  not  fly  to  the  other  end  of 
the  world  to  save  it  ?  What  were  Philip,  or  laws,  or 
oaths  of  any  kind  to  her  in  such  a  case  !  And  she  ac- 
knowledged the  truth  of  Felix's  words  when  he  repre- 
sented to  her  the  misery  of  having  to  leave  one  child  to 
save  the  other  !  Yes,  she  felt  the  most  intense  pity  for 
her  mother,  often  wondering  where  she  was,  and  if  her 
son  for  whom  she  had  endured  so  much  had  proved  a 
comfort  and  a  joy  to  her.  Poor,  sad,  superstitious  lady, 
suffering  intensely,  and  for  what  ? 

Helen  did  not  go  out  much,  although  Arthur,  who 
was  staying  in  the  town,  came  out  every  morning  to  put 
himself  at  her  disposal.  Sometimes  she  went  to  a  recep- 
tion or  a  lunch,  but  without  much  zest ;  for  she  always 
had  her  mind  divided  between  the  light  nothings  of 
small-talk  and  the  secret  fear  that  during  her  absence 
the  nurse  would  give  the  baby  cold  tea,  or  commit  some 
other  heinous  crime. 

Nevertheless  she  was  much  sought  out,  and  her  little 
lawn  was  made  the  scene  of  many  a  charming  reunion, 
such  as  luncheon  or  high-tea,  croquet,  or  perhaps  a  regu- 
lar game  of  romps ;  for  her  cottage  could  be  considered 


210  THE   FELMERES. 

in  the  country,  and  there  was  surely  no  harm  in  a  coun- 
try frolic ! 

But,  outside  of  all  this,  this  long  bright  summer  was 
very  delightful  to  Helen.  For  here  her  little  child  was 
so  entirely  her  own,  growing  and  thriving  under  her  care 
and  love  in  a  way  that  was  astonishing,  learning  to  know 
her  and  to  stretch  its  little  arms  to  reach  her,  and  sleep- 
ing close  to  her  heart.  This  child  and  life  had  become 
synonymous  terms  to  her,  and  in  the  flush  and  delight  of 
her  joy  she  wrote  old  Jane  a  letter,  in  which  she  opened 
her  heart  and  revealed  herself  as  she  had  never  done 
before  in  all  her  life,  pouring  out  her  feelings  to  old,  ig- 
norant Jane,  knowing  that  she  would  be  understood 
without  being  doubted  or  scoffed  at. 

"  Dear  Jane,"  she  began,  "  I  write  this  to  tell  you 
that  I  have  a  little  baby.  Think  of  that,  Jane — my  own 
little  baby,  to  love  and  to  keep  all  my  life  !  It  is  a  little 
boy,  strong  and  healthy  and  beautiful,  and  I  shall  name 
him  <  Hector '  from  my  dear  father.  I  have  not  written 
to  you  before,  dear  Jane,  because  I  have  not  been  very 
happy,  and  did  not  see  the  use  in  worrying  you  with 
troubles  you  could  not  help.  I  do  not  like  the  world 
nearly  so  well  as  old  Felmere;  and  I  should  be  very 
glad  if  they  would  let  me  come  home  to  you,  and  show 
you  my  child.  These  people  do  not  understand  me,  nor 
love  me  as  my  father  did,  and  you ;  they  scorn  me  be- 
cause I  do  not  believe  as  they  do,  and  I  scorn  them  in 
return.  Oh,  dear  Jane,  I  would  give  anything  to  come 
home  again  !  I  could  be  very  happy  with  you  and  Peter 
to  take  care  of  me,  and  my  child  to  love  and  live  for. 
But  I  am  better  off  than  I  have  been ;  for  with  this  child 
my  life,  even  here,  is  bearable.  Indeed,  I  do  not  see 


THE  FELMERES.  211 

how  I  managed  to  live  so  long  without  anything  of  my 
very  own  to  love ;  and  now  my  life  would  not  be  endura- 
ble without  it.  His  little  hands  are  so  soft,  and  his  little 
feet  are  like  rose-leaves — rose-leaves  with  little  toes  and 
toe-nails,  so  tiny  and  so  perfect.  I  love  them  so,  I  can 
not  bear  to  think  of  them  growing  into  great  mannish 
feet,  and  having,  perhaps,  to  walk  through  many  sorrows 
and  trials  before  they  reach  their  rest. 

"  Ah,  Jane,  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  believe  as  you 
do,  and  be  thankful,  as  you  say  you  are,  for  this  life !  I 
think  it  is  a  dreadful,  hard  thing,  and  I  could  not  love  a 
God  who  let  me  suffer  so  much.  -You  have  never  tried 
the  world,  and  so  you  do  not  know,  but  I  tell  you  it  is  a 
dreadful  thing !  These  people  who  call  themselves  Chris- 
tians are  such  shameless  hypocrites,  and  so  hard-hearted, 
you  would  not,  I  am  sure,  understand  or  like  them.  My 
father  was  the  best  man  I  have  ever  known ;  he  never 
lowered  himself  by  abusing  and  backbiting  even  his  worst 
enemy,  and  these  people  do  it  to  their  dearest  friends. 
More  than  this,  my  father  was  kind  and  charitable  to  all, 
and  made  me  think  more  of  Christianity  by  his  account 
of  it  than  these  people  will  ever  do  by  their  example. 
Oh,  I  do  despise  them ! 

"  But  I  am  away  from  them  all  now,  down  by  the 
beautiful  sea — the  same  sea  that  comes  to  you  down  at 
Felmere,  that  I  used  to  listen  to,  and  be  afraid  of,  and 
love ;  and  it  is  very  beautiful.  It  seems  a  piece  of  home, 
and  I  sometimes  fancy  I  hear  voices  in  it  when  it  cries  at 
night — voices  that  used  to  talk  to  me  at  home.  Ah,  Jane, 
I  did  not  know  how  happy  I  was  until  my  happiness  was 
gone !  I  am  afraid  it  is  always  so.  But  I  have  written 
you  a  very  mournful  letter,  and  I  intended  it  to  be  very 


212  THE  FELMERES. 

joyful ;  but  my  life  lias  been  out  of  tune  for  so  long,  that 
you  must  excuse  me  and  not  grow  sad  over  it.  I  will  try 
and  come  back  to  you  some  day ;  then  I  can  rest.  Take 
care  of  my  garden. 

"  Good-by.  My  love  to  all  the  people,  and  to  you, 
and  Peter,  and  the  place. 

"  HELEN  FELMEEE." 

A  childish  letter,  maybe,  and  foolish ;  but  it  was  true, 
and  came  from  the  depths  of  the  heart,  wherein,  if  we 
are  fortunate,  there  always  lies  one  little  drop  of  that 
innocent  truth  and  love  with  which  we  begin  our  lives. 
We  may  bury  it,  deny  it,  hide  it ;  but,  unless  we  willfully 
murder  all  our  better  selves,  that  little  drop  is  always 
there,  still,  clear  and  sweet !  Some  there  are  who  have 
kept  their  simple  childish  hearts  through  all  their  lives, 
seeming  to  draw  all  love,  and  trust,  and  sorrow  toward 
them ;  seeming  to  spread  a  new  and  wondrous  beauty 
over  all  the  path  of  life ;  seeming  to  see  in  all  about  them 
goodness  and  worth.  Such  things  are,  and  we  may  be 
thankful  for  the  knowledge ! 

So  Helen's  letter  went,  and  old  Jane,  reading  it  to 
Peter  as  they  sat  by  the  kitchen  tire,  stopped  many  times 
to  wipe  her  glasses,  while  Peter  had  frequent  need  to 
mend  the  fire.  Then  they  talked  it  over  in  their  homely 
fashion,  and  Jane  decided  that  Father  Paul  must  read  it, 
and  help  them  pray  for  their  dear  young  mistress  who 
seemed  so  very  sad.  And  Jane's  old  heart  warmed  over 
the  little  baby  ;  she  longed  to  see  it  and  to  hold  it ;  for 
once,  long  ago,  she  had  held  children — children  of  her 
own,  who  for  years  and  years  had  rested  in  the  church- 
yard ;  and  she  and  Peter  were  left  without  a  child  to  close 


THE   FELMERES.  213 

their  eyes.  Her  little  babies !  how  long  ago  it  seemed  ! 
She  was  a  strong  young  woman  then,  and  now  she  was 
very  old.  Yery  old,  bat  she  could  remember  the  look 
and  the  voice  of  every  one — their  little  ways,  and  the 
touch  of  their  little  hands.  For,  young  or  old,  rich  or 
poor,  good  or  evil,  high  or  low,  bond  or  free,  a  mother 
never  forgets  her  children — never  forgets  their  voices  or 
their  kisses ;  and  through  all  her  life  the  clinging  touch 
of  their  little  hands  reaches  forth  to  her,  the  patter  of 
their  little  feet  echoes  in  her  soul,  and  the  lengthening 
shadows  of  their  little  graves  fall  upon  her  heart !  The 
mother  whose  arms  have  once  held  a  child  can  always  feel 
its  shadow  resting  there — can  always  feel  the  void  it  left 
within  her  life ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  O  ye  years ! 

That  intervene  betwixt  that  day  and  this ; 
Yon  all  received  your  hue  from  that  keen  pain  and  bliss." 

ONE  glorious  day  in  early  August,  when  the  sky  was 
cloudless,  and  the  sea  lay  darkly  blue  and  softly  swelling 
in  the  morning  sun,  Helen,  with  her  child  in  her  arms, 
stood  on  the  beach  watching  the  lazy  waves  roll  up  the 
shore,  leaving  little  lines  of  foam  and  sedge-grass,  with 
here  and  there  a  tiny  glistening  shell ;  watching  the  com- 
placent sand-crabs  ambling  back  and  forth  with  no  visible 
object  in  their  joumeyings  ;  watching  the  gleaming  white 
sails  that  shone  far  out  on  the  wide  horizon. 

She  was  happier  than  she  had  been  for  years,  and 


214:  THE   FELMERES. 

happier  in  that  she  realized  it  and  enjoyed  it  consciously. 
Humming  softly  to  herself  the  little  country  song  she 
had  learned  from  Jane,  and  pausing  now  and  then  to  look 
down  upon  the  child,  she  walked  to  where  the  rocks  jut- 
ted out  into  a  little  promontory.  The  sun  was  warm, 
and  behind  those  rocks  she  would  find  shade.  So,  still 
singing  the  little  ballad,  she  rounded  them. 

Alas !  Facing  her  stood  Felix  Gordon !  ISTot  three 
feet  of  the  shining  sand  lay  between  them,  and  her  shadow, 
reaching  out  beyond  her  for  a  little  space,  was  lost  in 
his! 

"  Mr.  Gordon ! "  The  tone  was  low  and  almost  fright- 
ened ;  and  he,  paling  painfully,  held  out  his  hand  in 
greeting. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  then  gathered  her  little 
one  close  in  one  arm  and  laid  her  other  hand  in  his. 
After  so  many  years — after  so  many  changes,  they  once 
more  stood  face  to  face,  hand  clasped  in  hand ! 

So  long  he  had  not  seen  her  save  on  his  canvas  and 
in  his  memory,  that  his  eyes  seemed  hungry  in  their  gaz- 
ing. And  her  look,  so  full  of  the  sorrows  of  her  life, 
wandered  sadly  from  the  gray  hairs  tinging  the  brown, 
from  the  lines  across  his  brow,  from  his  full,  dark  beard, 
down  to  the  hand  that  held  hers,  then  up  again  to  the 
eyes.  She  would  surely  find  her  young  tutor  there ;  she 
would  surely  see  again  that  happy,  careless  look  she  so 
well  remembered  ;  surely  it  had  not  deserted  those  hon- 
est, kindly  eyes ! 

Alas!  only  a  bitter  despair  shone  there;  and  with- 
drawing her  hand,  she  turned  away.  Felix  stopped  her. 
This  meeting  had  been  decreed  by  Fate;  he  had  not 
sought  it,  and  it  should  not  be  shunned. 


THE  FELMEEES.  215 

"Will  you  not,"  lie  said  slowly,  "spare  me  a  few 
moments  out  of  all  your  life  ? " 

She  turned  quickly,  looking  at  aim  honestly  and 
truthfully  as  a  child  might.  "  It  is  you,"  she  answered, 
"  who  have  shunned  me ;  I  have  wanted  to  meet  you." 

"  True  ? "  he  asked,  looking  into  her  eyes  as  though 
to  read  the  depths  of  her  heart. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true ;  I  have  wanted  to  see  you."  Again 
she  turned  away. 

Felix  stepped  in  front  of  her. 

"  You  Tiave  wished  to  see  me,  but  now  ?  " 

Her  eyes  met  his  unflinchingly  as  she  answered : 

"  Now  I  am  not  so  lonely,  for  I  have  in  my  child  a 
friend" — wrapping  the  child  closer  in  her  arms  as  she 
spoke — "  my  little  child,  who  will  always  love  me,  and 
never  doubt  me." 

"  Doubt  you  ? "  Felix  repeated  questioningly.  "  Who 
has  doubted  you  ?  " 

The  blood  leaped  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
as  she  answered : 

"  You  painted  me  as  Guinevere  ! " 

Felix  looked  at  her  steadfastly  as  though  expecting 
some  further  communication ;  then,  slowly,  and  as  from 
far  off,  a  shadow  of  surprise  gathered  on  his  face,  deepen- 
ing into  a  look  of  absolute  pain. 

"  If  I  understand  you  rightly,"  he  said  deliberately, 
"  you  sadly  misjudge  me."  Then  he  went  on,  with  his 
voice  a  little  shaken  by  his  eagerness  of  self-defense :  "  I 
painted  you  as  Guinevere  because  you  only  were  beau- 
tiful enough  and  queenly  enough  to  represent  her." 

"  Then  I  have  wronged  you,"  Helen  answered,  the 
quick  tears  springing  to  her  eyes — "  wronged  both  you 


216  THE   FELMERES. 

and  myself ;  for  after  I  saw  that  picture  I  thought  you 
had  lost  all  respect  for  me  and  faith  in  me ;  and  if  you, 
knowing  me,  could  so  think  of  me,  what  right  had  I  to 
expect  any  more  from  the  rest  of  the  world  ?  So  I  let  all 
go.  But  now  I  am  thankful  this  is  not  so,  and  I  beg 
your  pardon."  Her  eyes  and  voice  were  full  of  tears. 

So  beautiful  she  looked,  with  a  faint  flush  on  her  face, 
her  crimson  lips  half  parted,  and  her  hair  all  ruffled  by 
the  wind ! 

Felix  stood  as  if  lost  to  all  about  him ;  then  his  eyes 
fell  on  the  sleeping  child,  and  he  turned  away. 

"  It  has  all  been  very  bitter,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and  I 
have  been  very  weak  and  very  wicked ;  but  now  the  worst 
is  over,  and  I  think  I  can  venture  to  be  your  friend.  I 
have  loved  you,  I  do  love  you,  and  I  will  always  love 
you —  "  He  stopped  suddenly,  and  Helen,  waiting,  won- 
dered at  his  strange  abruptness.  "  No,"  he  began  slowly, 
not  able  to  deceive  himself,  "I  can  not  altogether  say 
what  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  say  whenever  I  should  meet 
you  again ;  but  putting  this  aside,  will  you  be  my  friend  ? 
"Will  you  let  me  come  to  see  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  sadly ;  "  if  you  wish  to  come,  I 
shall  be  glad." 

In  her  mind  there  was  no  anxiety,  no  misgiving. 

Then  he  walked  home  with  her  through  the  summer 
sunshine,  talking  little,  feeling  he  knew  not  how — held 
quiet  under  the  excitement  of  the  hour.  At  the  garden- 
gate  he  left  her,  and  she  for  the  moment,  forgetting  where 
or  who  she  was,  stood  and  watched 'him  as  he  walked 
away. 

Felix  never  once  looked  back,  nor  allowed  himself 
to  think  of  or  to  weigh  the  consequences  of  the  course  he 


THE   FELMERES.  217 

had  entered  on.  He  stood  on  the  shore  and  looked  out 
across  the  shining  sea.  The  summer  wind  whispered 
about  him,  the  waves  left  their  lines  of  creamy  foam  at 
his  feet,  and  the  sea-birds  flew  lazily  back  and  forth.  He 
noted  it  all  jn  an  idle,  dreamy  way  that  seemed  to  make 
no  impression  on  him ;  yet  in  the  after-time  he  could  recall 
it  all,  and  his  every  thought  as  he  stood  wrapped  in  a 
dizzy  maze  of  past  and  present. 

He  had  not  arranged  the  meeting ;  he  had  not  sought 
Helen ;  he  did  not  even  know  she  was  on  the  island ; 
all  was  accidental,  and  he  would  not  turn  away.  All  these 
long  years  he  had  hungered  for  the  sound  of  her  voice 
and  the  touch  of  her  hand ;  all  these  years  other  women 
had  been  as  nothing  in  his  eyes  ;  all  these  years  he  had 
pondered  over  her  sweeping  skepticism  and  the  causes  of 
it,  had  studied  her  side  of  the  question  and  his  own,  and 
wavered !  The  strain  upon  his  soul  no  man  could  know ; 
it  had  whitened  his  hair,  and  taken  the  strength  and  pur- 
pose out  of  his  life.  And  with  this  wavering,  the  knowl- 
edge of  himself  came  to  him  with  overwhelming  sudden- 
ness, causing  him  to  distrust  and  to  despise  himself.  So 
the  youth  in  him  died,  and  in  its  place  stood  a  gloomy, 
embittered  man ! 

And  at  his  home  those  three  devoted  women  watched 
the  change  with  sorrowful  wonder.  "What  had  come  to 
their  boy,  their  Felix — the  life,  the  joy,  the  one  bright 
thing  in  their  world  ?  And  he  could  not  explain ;  he 
could  not  tell  them  of  his  misgivings  that  to  them  would 
be  too  dreadful !  So  he  became  more  and  more  silent 
and  sad,  and  they  learned  to  love  their  changed  idol  with  a 
new  and  different  love — a  love  with  more  of  care  and  pity 
in  it,  with  more  of  unobtrusive  action  and  less  of  words. 
10 


218  THE  FELMERES. 

Now,  after  all  these  years  and  changes,  he  stood  in 
the  yellow  August  sunshine,  deciding  without  judging, 
determining  without  weighing,  without  argument,  on 
what  might  prove  the  most  important  step  in  his  life ! 
Yes,  he  would  stay ;  he  must  see  and  know  Helen  in  her 
full  womanhood.  Her  happiness  was  dear  to  him — ay, 
dearer  than  his  own  ;  he  would  only  stay  and  enjoy  for  a 
little  while  the  sunshine  of  her  glorious  beauty.  His  life 
had  been  too  barren,  and  now  that  he  had  once  more 
touched  her  hand  and  heard  her  voice,  he  could  not  leave 
her.  He  could  die  for  her,  but  he  could  not  go ! 


CHAPTER,  VIII. 

"  0  f or  comfort,  0  the  waste  of  a  long  doubt  and  trouble! 
On  that  sultry  August  eve  trouble  had  made  me  meek ; 
I  was  tired  of  my  sorrow ;  O  so  faint,  for  it  was  double 
In  the  weight  of  its  oppression,  that  I  could  not  speak !  " 

THE  next  day  Felix  called  at  the  cottage,  and  found  a 
croquet  party  assembled  on  the  lawn.  He  was  kindly  re- 
ceived, introduced  to  those  he  did  not  know,  given  a  mallet, 
and  set  to  work.  He  played  in  an  unenthusiastic,  common- 
place way,  and  talked  to  the  young  ladies,  who  were  thrown 
into  quite  a  nutter  by  his  attentions,  in  the  same  way. 
The  game  seemed  longer  to  him  than  it  really  was,  and  it 
seemed  strange  for  him  to  be  idling  in  this  careless  man- 
ner through  all  the  turmoil  and  excitement  that  surged 
like  a  strong  wild  undercurrent  through  his  heart  and 
brain.  He  found  himself  watching  Helen  furtively,  and 


THE   FELMERES.  219 

earnestly  and  constantly  striving  to  catch  the  tones  of 
her  voice,  all  the  time  longing  for  the  people  to  be  gone. 

After  a  while  the  game  was  over ;  then  came  the  lunch, 
and  after  that  the  beginnings  of  farewells.  He  watched 
the  company  lingering  over  the  last  moments  with  ill- 
concealed  impatience ;  he  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  as  he 
helped  the  last  party  into  their  carriage,  and,  lifting  his 
hat  to  their  last  bow,  turned  and  followed  Helen  into  the 
house.  She  made  her  way  among  the  flower-beds  to  a 
low  French  window  that,  being  open,  gave  a  full  view  of 
the  dainty  drawing-room.  She  took  her  seat  inside,  but 
Felix,  with  her  permission,  preferred  to  sit  on  the  win- 
dow-sill with  his  feet  down  among  the  flowers. 

Over  th'e  lawn  and  flower-beds,  over  the  hedges  and 
clover-fields,  down  to  the  sea,  a  fair  sunshiny  view 
stretched  before  them — shadowless,  save  for  the  passing 
summer  clouds.  When  the  sun  got  lower,  the  stiffly 
trimmed  cedars  and  poplars  would  cast  long  still  shadows 
across  the  velvety  grass,  and  so  lie  there  until  the  dark- 
ness destroyed  them. 

"  A  fair  sweet  picture,"  Helen  mused,  "  with  a  color- 
ing and  an  atmospheric  softness  about  it  that  could  never 
be  put  on  canvas,  and  a  peacefulness  that  should  fall  like 
a  healing  balm  on  the  most  troubled  heart."  So  she 
thought,  while  her  quiet  heart  beat  calmly ;  and  Felix,  at 
her  feet,  almost  touching  her,  was  fighting  manfully  with 
himself,  striving  to  begin  temperately  his  conversation. 
What  should  he  say  to  her?  why  had  he  sought  this 
interview  ?  how  could  he  talk  of  commonplace  things  ? 

The  wind,  brushing  a  portion  of  Helen's  dress  against 
him,  startled  him ;  he  looked  up  quickly,  and  found  his 
companion  regarding  him  with  a  steadfast  sadness.  Then, 


220  THE   FELMERES. 

without  a  tremor  in  her  voice  or  a  sign  of  excitement,  she 
said  meditatively : 

"  This  reminds  me,  Mr.  Gordon,  of  the  evening  we 
sat  in  the  old  churchyard  at  Felmere,  when  I  told  you  I 
wras  an  unbeliever.  Do  you  remember  ? " 

Felix  looked  up  in  surprise.  How  quietly  she  went 
back  into  the  very  heart  of  the  old  days,  bringing  up 
the  associations  he  had  of  all  others  expected  her  to 
avoid.  Was  it  intentional?  he  wondered.  Well,  it  did 
not  much  matter ;  since  she  had  led  up  to  them,  he  could 
but  follow.  And,  he  not  answering  her  question,  Helen 
went  on  in  the  same  musing  tone  : 

"  I  can  not  think  why  it  should  remind  me  of  Fel- 
mere, but  it  does.  It  must  be  the  fresh  wind,  or  the 
white  clouds,  for  there  is  nothing  else  here  that  could 
bring  it  up,  not  even  you." 

Then  she  bent  her  look  out  toward  the  sea,  and 
Felix,  looking  questioningly  at  the  averted  face,  answered 
slowly : 

"  In  some  things  I  know  I  am  changed,  and  wof ully 
so.  How  is  it  with  you  ? " 

There  was  much  in  his  voice,  but  she  did  not  seem 
to  hear  it,  or  if  she  heard  she  did  not  heed  it,  but  an- 
swered without  so  much  as  turning  her  eyes  from  the 
sea: 

"  Yes,  I  am  also  changed,  but  whether  for  better  or 
worse  I  have  not  of  late  stopped  to  ask ;  and  when  I  look 
back  at  that  poor,  high-strung,  unhappy  girl  that  you 
knew,  I  could  almost  cry  for  her.  She  thought  she  had 
lived  her  life,  and  her  life  had  not  begun ;  she  thought 
she  had  conquered  herself,  and  she  did  not  yet  know 
herself.  Alas,  it  was  down  among  the  blackest  of  all 


THE  FELMEEES.  221 

black  days  that  she  learned  all  this,  and  without  a  human 
soul  to  tell  it  to  ! " 

There  was  a  little  pause  while  Felix  was  trying  to 
see  if  there  was  any  deeper  meaning  hidden  in  her  an- 
swer. At  last,  not  able  to  decide,  he  said  slowly  : 

"  If  I  had  known  that  you  had  no  friends — "  Then 
he  paused,  forced  to  do  so  by  the  look  almost  of  curiosity 
that  Helen  bent  on  him — a  look  as  though  she  was  trying 
to  fathom  his  deepest  thoughts,  and  to  find  if  there  was 
a  special  motive  for  his  words.  She  looked  at  him 
steadily  for  a  moment,  and,  he  not  continuing  his  speech, 
she  again  turned  her  eyes  to  the  view  spread  before  her, 
and  answered : 

"  No  one  could  have  helped  me.  There  are  depths 
in  every  heart  and  life  that  must  sooner  or  later  be 
sounded — depths  to  which  you  must  descend  alone,  and 
from  which  no  love  or  sympathy  that  I  have  found  can 
help  you.  You  Christians  cry  to  your  God :  I  have  no 
God ! " 

All  the  sorrow  he  had  felt  for  her  in  her  early  youth 
came  back  to  him  now,  as  once  again  the  loneliness  of 
her  life  was  spread  before  him — this  soul-desolation  that, 
absorbing  the  bitterest  drop  from  every  sorrow,  stands 
alone  and  quiet,  held  still  in  a  cold  despair !  Her  words 
had  quieted  him,  and  he  said  : 

"  And  you  are  still  an  unbeliever  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  your  unbelief  has  satisfied  you  ? " 

"  As  well,  I  think,  as  your  Christianity  has  satisfied 
you,"  she  answered,  looking  sadly  down  on  his  face,  that 
had  gathered  in  these  years  an  expression  of  settled 
weariness. 


222  THE  FELMERES. 

He  looked  up  quickly  and  met  her  look  full  of  sym- 
pathy bent  on  him ;  but  it  was  only  sympathy,  and  he 
turned  away. 

"  I  have  studied  both  sides,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  But  you  still  believe  ? "  Helen  asked  almost  anx- 
iously. 

He  stooped  down  among  the  flowers,  and  picked  a 
fresh,  fair  daisy ;  he  laid  the  flower  on  his  palm ;  it  was 
so  frail  and  tiny,  and  yet  its  life  and  being  was  as  deep 
a  mystery  as  those  greater  questions  he  could  not  solve ! 
He  put  the  flower  on  Helen's  knee. 

"  It  is  all  a  mystery,"  he  said — "  as  great  a  mystery  as 
the  life  of  that  little  flower." 

"  And  you  have  learned  to  doubt  ? "  Helen  asked 
sadly,  and  in  her  turn  laid  the  flower  on  her  hand. 

"  ~No"  he  said ;  "  I  have  never  been  a  skeptic ;  I 
only  wavered  somewhat  at  times." 

"  And  now  ?  "    Helen  was  watching  him  very  closely. 

"  I  strive  to  believe  without  questioning ;  and  I. will, 
until  such  time  as  God  in  his  mercy  shall  make  it  clear 
to  me." 

A  pain  shot  through  Helen's  heart.  Had  she  done 
this?  had  she  clouded  the  beautiful  faith  her  girlhood 
had  known  and  loved  in  this  man  ?  Then  she  asked  : 

"  Was  it  my  fault  ?" 

Felix  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Your  fault !     What  ? " 

"  Your  unbelief." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  surprise,  then  said  : 

"  It  seems  so  strange  to  me  that  you  do  not  know 
how  weak  I  am  ;  that  you  do  not  know  where  the  tempta- 
tion to  doubt  came  into  my  life — the  temptation  to  strive 


THE  FELMERES.  223 

to  stand  where  you  stood — to  look  on  the  oath  you  had 
taken  as  an  empty  form — to  put  away  all  law  of  obliga- 
tion, and,  casting  consequences  to  the  winds,  go  back  and 
plead  with  you !  But  I  could  not,"  he  went  on  more 
slowly,  laying  his  hand  on  hers  and  crushing  the  little 
daisy  under  his  hot  palm — "  I  could  not  when  I  remem- 
bered how  you  had  turned  away — when  I  remembered 
how  high  and  pure  you  seemed  to  me — I  could  not  even 
try  to  drag  you  down !  No,  it  was  not  your  fault — you 
saved  me.  And  now — " 

Helen  clasped  her  other  hand  over  his.  "  Go  back  to 
your  faith  and  your  God ! "  she  almost  whispered.  "  I 
have  no  peace  to  give  you.  I  would  do  anything  to  help 
you — to  take  the  doubt  and  longing  out  of  your  life,  or 
in  any  way  to  make  you  happier." 

"  You  can — "  Then  he  paused  and  looked  away 
across  the  peaceful  land  and  sea.  He  almost  crushed  the 
hand  he  held  !  Was  she  not  as  high  and  pure  as  in  the 
past? 

He  rose  abruptly. 

"  Good-by."  He  wrung  her  hand.  "  I  will  come 
again,"  he  said,  and  turned  away  with  the  bitter  knowl- 
edge surging  in  his  heart  that,  even  after  all  he  had  suf- 
fered through  his  doubts,  and  through  the  bitter  discovery 
of  his  own  weakness,  he  would  now  be  willing  to  live  in 
doubt  for  ever,  and  irrevocably  confirm  his  weakness,  if 
in  payment  he  could  claim  this  woman ! 

It  was  a  sickening  revelation  of  himself,  and  he  bowed 
his  head  in  hopeless  humility ! 


224:  THE   FELMERES. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Let  us  alone.    What  pleasure  can  we  have 
To  war  with  evil  ?     Is  there  any  peace 
In  ever  climhing  up  the  climbing  wave  ? 
All  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave 
In  silence;  ripen,  fall  and  cease  : 
Give  us  long  rest  or  death,  dark  death,  or  dreamful  ease." 

THERE  was  a  ball  in  town  the  next  night,  and  as  the 
hostess  was  a  special  friend  of  Mrs.  Felmere's,  and  had 
already  complained  that  young  Mrs.  Felmere  kept  up 
none  of  the  family  friendships,  Arthur  had  insisted  on 
Helen's  going;  and  Helen,  seeing  the  kind  motive  that 
underlay  his  persuasion,  consented  that  he  should  come 
for  her.  She  was  ready  when  he  arrived,  and  called  him 
in  to  see  the  baby. 

"  He  is  so  beautiful,  Arthur,  you  must  come  and  take 
one  look  at  him."  So  Arthur,  obeying  her  as  men  usu- 
ally did,  stood  looking  at  her  as  she  leaned  over  the  sleep- 
ing child. 

"  How  much  more  beautiful  love  and  happiness  make 
her,"  he  thought,  "  and  if  she  had  only  married  the  man 
she  loved ! "  for  he  had  long  ago  decided  in  his  own  mind 
that  she  had  loved  some  one  once — whom,  or  when,  or 
where,  or  what  the  circumstances  were,  he  could  not  sur- 
mise ;  but  of  the  one  fact  he  was  quite  certain,  she  had 
loved  some  one  once  ! 

"  Is  he  not  lovely  ? "  Helen  said,  looking  up  at  him. 

Arthur  immediately  bent  on  the  child  that  dispassion- 


THE   FELMERES.  225 

ate  gaze  that  men  are  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  on  the 
young  of  their  land. 

"  I  do  not  like  him,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"  Arthur ! " 

Arthur  shook  his  head. 

"  He  always  recalls  to  me  the  fact,  the  miserable  fact, 
that  I  am  a  great-uncle ;  he  makes  me  feel  too  old." 

Helen  laughed ;  she  was  really  relieved  that  he  did 
not  dislike  her  child. 

"  You  are  too  ridiculous ! "  she  said  ;  and  drawing 
her  cloak  up  over  her  shoulders,  she  led  the  way  to  the 
carriage. 

"You  are  looking  happier  and  handsomer  to-night 
than  I  have  ever  seen  you,"  Arthur  said  as  they  entered 
the  ball-room.  "  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  unless  it  is  that  yesterday  I  met  my 
old  friend  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  answered  frankly. 

"  Gordon  the  artist  ?  " — in  much  surprise. 

"Yes." 

"  Why,  where  on  earth  did  you  meet  him  ? " 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  their  hostess,  who 
came  up  leaning  on  Mr.  Gordon's  arm. 

"  Mrs.  Felmere,  I  brought  Mr.  Gordon  to  be  intro- 
duced," she  said,  "but  he  tells  me  he  has  had  that  plea- 
sure." 

Helen,  shaking  hands  with  Felix,  answered : 

"  Yes,  we  met  each  other  a  great  many  years  ago — 
before  you  were  famous  ? "  she  went  on. 

"  Before  I  had  ever  sold  a  picture,"  he  answered. 

"  Then,  of  course,  you  have  much  to  talk  over,"  Mrs. 
Beaumont  said,  smiling  and  arching  her  eyebrows  in 
knowing  surprise;  "and  I  can  leave  you  feeling  sure 


226  THE   FELMERES. 

that  at  least  three  of  my  guests  are  enjoying  themselves." 
And,  with  an  especial  smile  and  bow  to  Arthur,  she 
joined  another  group. 

"  Will  you  let  me  look  at  your  card  ? "  Felix  asked, 
after  greeting  Arthur. 

She  gave  it  to  him,  and  while  he  was  busy  writing 
down  his  name,  she  turned  to  Arthur. 

"  I  never  answered  your  last  question,"  she  said ; 
"  what  was  it  ? " 

Arthur  looked  up,  smiling  pleasantly.  "  You  answered 
it  to  Mrs.  Beaumont.  I  only  asked  where  you  had  known 
Mr.  Gordon." 

"  Ah,  I  did  not  understand.  Why,  I  knew  him  long 
ago  at  Felmere,"  she  answered ;  "  he  taught  me  all  I  know 
of  drawing  or  painting." 

"  Not  quite  all"  Felix  amended ;  "  you  had  advanced 
exceedingly  well,  and  you  had  been  grounded  thorough- 
ly." 

Then  others  joining  the  group,  Gordon  moved  away ; 
and  Arthur,  following  him  with  his  eyes,  thought,  "  Gor- 
don is  the  man ! " 

And  all  the  evening  he  watched  them  as  they  danced 
together,  and  pitied  them  from  the  depths  of  his  heart. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  danced  and  went  to  parties," 
Helen  said. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  dancing,"  Felix  answered.  "  Did 
you  not  see  me  at  Mrs.  Tilmont's  ball  ? " 

Helen  looked  away. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  you."  Then,  after  a  little  pause :  "  Why 
did  you  not  speak  to  me  ? " 

They  had  stopped  dancing  now,  and  stood  out  on  a 


THE   FELMERES.  227 

terrace  looking  over  the  moonlit  sea.  Felix*]  ooked  down 
into  the  honest,  questioning  eyes,  and  manfully  told  the 
truth : 

"  I  was  afraid." 

"Afraid?" 

"Yes,  of  myself." 

Helen  stood  silent :  then  the  thought  that  had  come 
to  her  the  evening  before,  and  that  she  had  put  away  as 
unworthy  of  her  old  ideal,  was  true  ?  Was  h«  meeting 
her  now  against  his  better  judgment  ?  She  looked  at 
him  gravely. 

"  And  now  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Now  ? "  Felix  turned  away  as  he  repeated  the  word, 
for  what  could  he  answer  ?  "  Now — now  I  have  given 
up.  I  can  not  go  away  and  leave  the  only  friend  I  care 
for  in  all  the  world — I  am  too  weak  !  " 

"  Hush ! "  Helen  almost  whispered.  "  I  do  not  want 
to  think  you  weak — I  do  not  want  to  lose  faith  in  you. 
I  should  have  to  despise  you." 

"  I  despise  myself  more  than  you  can  ever  do,"  Felix 
answered ;  "  and  yet  I  have  given  up.  Hereafter  I  must 
float  wherever  the  tides  drift  me.  I  am  too  tired  to  strug- 
gle any  more." 

"  And  you  will  do  wrong,  and  say  you  drifted  into 
it  ? "  she  asked,  with  a  tone  of  scorn  creeping  into  her 
voice.  "  Would  it  not  be  braver  to  say,  '  It  is  wrong,  but 
I  will  do  it '  ? "  She  paused  a  moment,  then  added, 
"  Whatever  you  are  going  to  do,  for  the  sake  of  my  old 
trust  in  you,  do  it  honestly  and  bravely  ! " 

Ah,  how  her  words  and  tone  stung ! — this  woman  who 
could  not  pity,  but  only  despise  weakness. 

And  Felix  answered  with  deliberate  quiet : 


228  THE  FELMERES. 

"  Suppose'I  am  neither  honest  nor  bravep 

"  Then  I  am  sorry,"  she  said  bitterly,  "£aii<|  my  ];i.  ' 
delusion  as  to  humanity  is  swept  away."    Arwf 
toward  the  house. 

Felix  stepped  in  front  of  her. 

"  Wait ! "  he  said  quickly.    "  I  can  not  losflfff'  fri°"' ' 
ship  in  this  way,  just  as  I  have  laid  hold  on 

She  paused,  and  they  stood  looking  at  e:  i 

silence — he  angry,  she  bitterly  disappointed.!  £ 
spoke : 

"  Yesterday  afternoon  you  said  you  weffilwjc^ertti  \l 
from  pleading  with  me  because  in  your  eyes'  i  i,;!i 

and  pure — because  I  turned  away.  Did  yon  ',  »n  t;n: 
other  hand,  go  over  in  your  own  mind  the  probable  course; 
of  reasoning,  and  the  probable  motives,  that  guided  me 
through  that  great  temptation  of  my  life  ? " 

Felix  looked  surprised. 

"Your  devotion  and  promise  to  your  father,"  he 
answered  readily. 

"  Yes,  that ;  but  did  you  surmise  nothing  else  ? " 

He  shook  his  head. 

She  waited  a  moment,  then  went  on  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  The  strongest  weapon  against  my  love  for  you,"  she 
said,  "  was  my  love  for  you.  I  could  not  bear  to  let  you 
see  me  break  my  word  anci  be  untrue  ;  I  could  not  bear 
to  see  my  ideal  step  down  and  succumb  to  a  weakness.  I 
preferred  giving  you  up  and  emptying  my  life,  to  keeping 
you  with  the  faintest  taint  on  your  strength  and  honor  ! 
And  now  ? " 

"  And  now  you  have  lived  to  find  out  what  you  did 
not  want  to  see,"  he  answered,  looking  straight  into  her 
true,  pure  eyes — "  have  lived  to  know  that  I  was  saved 


THE   FELMERES.  229 

through  your  strength  ;  have  lived  to  see  your  'last  de- 
lusion as  to  humanity '  swept  away  by  me  ! " 

"  Have  I  ? "  she  asked,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm— 
"  have  I  lived  to  see  this  ?  Will  you  let  this  thing  be  ? " 

He  trembled  under  her  touch,  and  his  voice  sank  low 
as  he  asked : 

"  Must  I  go  away  again  ? " 

"  You  know  the  right  here  better  than  I  can  tell  you," 
she  answered  sadly,  "  and  you  must  do  it." 

"  I  can  not." 

"  You  can,  and  you  must ;  for  the  sake  of  my  old 
faith  in  you,  you  must !  "  Her  voice  was  low  and  tense, 
and  there  was  a  ring  of  .despair  in  it  that  was  pitiful. 
She  clung  so  desperately  to  the  love  and  belief  of  her 
life ;  she  so  longed  to  prove  him  what  she  had  thought 
he  was ;  and  if  he  failed  her  now  ?  Ah,  she  would  rather 
a  thousand  times  see  him  dead ! 

Felix  did  not  answer,  and  she  went  on : 

"  You.  will  do  right  ? "  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
added  a  saving  clause,  "  But  whatever  you  do,  I  will  trust, 
and  not  judge  you,"  and,  passing  him  swiftly,  entered 
the  ball-room. 

Ah,  what  a  bond  her  last  words  had  laid  on  him! 
And  he  wondered  if  she  had  realized  it.  "Whatever  he 
did,  she  wrould  trust,  and  not  judge  him  "  ;  and  he  knew 
her  well  enough  to  know  that  whatever  she  said  she 
would  do. 

He  paced  up  and  down,  thinking.  She  had  left  him 
a  loophole  ;  he  might  stay,  and  she  would  trust,  and  not 
judge  him !  He  paused  :  she  had  also  left  herself  a  way 
of  escape ;  he  might  stay,  and  she  could  not  to  herself 
blame  him.  In  short,  she  would  accept  his  staying  as  a 


230  THE  FELMERES. 

pledge  that  he  was  acting  according  to  his  better  judg- 
ment, and  in  his  own  eyes  doing  no  wrong ! 

Up  and  down  he  walked  thinking,  arguing,  fighting, 
and  with  no  result.  He  would  far  rather  have  had  her 
do  as  most  women  would  have  done,  and  denounced, 
commanded,  or  pleaded  with  him.  Anything  would  have 
been  better  than  this  calm  binding  him — this  quiet  com- 
pelling him  to  do  right,  or  to  deceive  her.  "Was  there 
ever  another  woman  so  wise  ?  he  wondered. 

Suppose  he  should  go  to  her  and  say  he  knew  he  was 
wrong,  but  had  decided  to  stay ;  what  would  she  say  ? 
Alas,  he  knew  the  answer  too  well — a  look  of  pitying 
contempt  and  a  quiet  turning  away  as  from  a  worthless 
thing !  !No ;  if  he  stayed,  it  must  be  done  quietly  as 
though  he  thought  he  was  right ;  that  was  the  only  way. 

Should  he  stay  ? 

And  Helen,  in  the  silence  of  her  cool,  dim-lighted 
chamber,  did  that  night  ponder  many  things.  The  world 
was  such  a  pitiful  jumble,  and  no  one  was  strong  or  weak 
in  the  right  place.  The  strength  she  had  so  much  ad- 
mired in  her  father,  the  strength  that  had  kept  him  still 
when  her  mother  fled,  was  afterward  regretted.  And 
herself — if  she  had  only  been  strong  enough  to  resist  her 
father's  wishes  in  regard  to  Philip,  or  weak  enough  now 
to  respect  Philip ! 

It  was  all  very  strange,  she  thought ;  and,  looking  out 
over  the  shining  sea,  she  longed  so  bitterly  for  her  father 
and  Felmere — longed  for  the  love  and  the  home  she 
would  never  have  again.  She  had  suffered  so  much  that 
the  years  that  had  passed  since  her  father's  death  stretched 
almost  into  a  lifetime ;  and  it  seemed  her  sufferings  were 


THE  FELMERES.  231 

not  over.  For  this  child,  who  was  almost  her  life,  was 
but  another  hostage  to  sorrow,  an  entering  wedge  that 
would  separate  her  for  ever  from  any  chance  of  happi- 
ness ;  for  how  could  she  rear  him  acceptably  to  Philip  and 
his  family — how  could  she  give  him  up  to  be  a  Christian  ? 
It  was  not  often  she  let  herself  dwell  on,  or  even  contem- 
plate, this  subject ;  but  sometimes  it  would  come  up,  and 
so  darken  all  her  present  joy.  And  she  was  powerless 
save  to  wait  and  watch. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  '  "We  meet  at  one  gate 

"When  all's  over.    The  ways  they  are  many  and  wide, 
And  seldom  are  two  ways  the  same.     Side  by  side 
May  we  stand  at  the  same  little  door  when  all's  done ! 
The  ways  they  are  many,  the  end  it  is  one.'  " 

IT  had  been  a  lowering  day,  with  a  fitful  wind  blow- 
ing that  put  a  cap  on  every  tossing  wave.  Just  now  the 
sun  was  setting,  and  a  long  stream  of  glory,  breaking 
from  between  the  clouds,  shot  across  the  hills  and  fields 
down  to  the  sullen  waves !  What  a  glow  of  color  came 
over  land  and  sea,  rounding  the  ragged  outlines  of  the 
crags  and  cliffs,  and  transmuting  as  it  were  the  long  curve 
of  the  beach  into  a  band  of  gold  !  Far  out  on  the  gray 
waste  of  waters  a  solitary  boat-sail  caught  the  wandering 
beam ;  and  the  sea-birds,  flying  landward,  were  turned 
to  silver  as  they  came. 

"  A  wild,  beautiful  picture,"  Helen  thought  as  she 
sat  in  the  low  window,  with  her  feet  down  among  the 


232  THE   FELMERES. 

flowers ;  so  beautiful,  it  made  her  sad.  Ah,  this  sadness 
— did  it  live  in  her,  or  in  all  things  beautiful  ? 

A  step  on  the  gravel  disturbed  her  musings,  and  look- 
ing up  she  saw  Felix  Gordon  approaching.  He  took  off 
his  hat  as  he  neared  her,  but  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands, 
nor  would  he  take  the  seat  she  offered  him  beside  her, 
but  leaned  instead  against  the  window-frame  just  opposite 
her.  It  was  a  strange  meeting  and  greeting,  she  thought ; 
but  the  silence  that  followed  was  stranger  still.  At  last 
he  raised  his  eyes  from  the  tender  little  daisies  among 
which  he  stood,  and,  looking  at  her,  said : 

"  I  have  come  to  say  good-by Mrs.  Felmere." 

There  was  a  little  pause  before  the  last  two  words,  as 
though  he  found  them  difficult  to  say ;  and  to  Helen  the 
name  sounded  strangely  from  his  lips. 

"  When  do  you  go  ? "  she  asked  slowly. 

"  To-night." 

She  looked  up  with  a  glad  light  shining  in  her  eyes, 
and  an  expression  of  positive  happiness  sending  a  glow 
over  her  face. 

"  Are  you  so  glad  then  ? "  Felix  asked  a  little  bit- 
terly. 

"  I  am,"  and  the  eyes  that  met  his  seemed  cleared  of 
some  trouble.  "  I  am  glad  because  you  prove  yourself 
true  and  strong,"  she  said;  and  again  there  was  a  silence 
between  them,  she  looking  out  across  the  sunset-tinted 
sea,  he  looking  down  on  her  and  drinking  in  the  exceed- 
ing beauty  of  the  sad  face. 

Would  he  ever  see  it  again  ?  Could  he  ever  see 
enough  of  it  ? 

"Good-by,"  he  said  abruptly,  and  his  voice  struck 
hard  and  sharp  on  the  air. 


THE  FELMERES.  233 

Helen  started,  then  rose  and  gave  him  her  hand,  say- 
ing nothing. 

"I  am  going,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "I  could  stay 
longer,  but  to  what  purpose  ?  What  would  these  few 
moments  of  nearness  be  to  the  eternity  of  separation  that 
lies  before  me !  Good-by — God  bless  you  ! " 

He  wrung  her  hand,  and,  turning  away,  ground  the 
frail,  pink-lipped  flowers  under  his  heel.  He  heard  a 
sigh  as  sharp  and  tense  as  though  some  heart-string 
strained  too  tightly  had  given  way :  he  turned,  and  saw 
the  face  that  to  him  was  all  the  world  look  white  and 
suffering,  with  all  the  glow  of  joy  and  thankfulness 
faded  away !  One  swift  step  brought  him  back  to  her 
side ;  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  his  voice 
trembled  as  he  spoke. 

"  God  will  bless  you,"  he  said  ;  "  you  will  be  happy 
somewhere !  Twice  you  have  saved  me  in  my  hour  of 
weakness  ;  twice  you  have  turned  me  back  into  the  right 
way ;  and  God  will  reward  you !  Remember,  I  have 
you,  and  you  only,  to  thank  that  I  am  not  a  miserable 
and  utter  wreck ! "  He  paused ;  his  voice  lowered  and  his 
grasp  on  her  shoulder  grew  heavier.  "  If  by  God's  mercy 
I  am  saved,  may  I  not  hope  to  meet  you  in  eternity  \ " 

She  trembled  under  his  hand,  and  his  words  seemed 
to  ring  about  her  like  a  thousand  bells.  He  was  miser- 
able, but  he  had  a  hope :  she  stood  desolate  !  How  the 
weight  of  her  misery  seemed  to  crush  her  down — how  it 
seemed  to  double  itself  when  she  realized  how  utterly 
alone  she  stood !  Solitary — outside  the  pale  of  all  the 
Christian  world  !  But  one  had  stood  there — an  old,  de- 
serted, white-haired  man  had  stood  there,  and  dared  all 
risks  !  Her  place  was  at  his  side. 


234:  THE   FELMERES. 

She  stepped  from  under  the  hand  that  lay  on  her 
shoulder,  and,  looking  up  with  a  light  of  devotion  shining 
in  her  eyes,  and  a  pale,  brave  face,  she  answered : 

"  If  I  deserted  iny  father,  remorse  would  torment  me 
even  in  the  Christian's  paradise  1  This  life  is  all  I  have 
or  hope  for  ;  with  it  I  must  be  content ! " 

One  moment  they  stood  facing  each  other,  realizing 
intensely  the  awful  distance  that  possibly  lay  between 
them  !  And  while  they  looked,  the  crimson  glory  of  the 
sunset  faded,  and  the  world  was  left  to  the  gray  dusk  and 
sobbing  wind  ! 

"  I  will  pray  for  you  day  and  nigh't,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  that  God  will  save  you." 

Then,  without  another  word  or  touch,  he  left  her  and 
strode  away  through  the  gloaming. 

Gone! 

She  stood  among  the  gathering  shadows  and  listened 
until  the  last  echo  of  his  footsteps  died  away  :  firm, 
steady,  unfaltering,  it  faded  from  her  hearing  and  from 
her  life !  It  was  right,  and  she  had  wished  it  so ;  but 
now  the  loneliness  of  it  came  home  to  her  so  heavily,  and 
she  only  now  realized  how  much  she  would  miss  him — 
how  much  of  a  link  he  had  been  between  her  and  her  old 
home.  He  had  known  her  father,  and  had  lived  with 
them  in  their  daily  life ;  he  was  something  to  make  her 
conscious  that  those  former  days  were  not  a  dream,  and 
when  he  was  near  her  she  had  missed  the  empty  longing 
and  home-sickness  of  her  life.  But  it  was  well :  he  had 
shown  his  strength  and  gone  away,  and  she  could  still 
remember  him  with  pleasure  and  trust.  This  was  a  hap- 
piness to  her,  and  she  was  glad  for  it. 

After  this  she  drew  within  herself  more  than  before ; 


THE   FELMERES.  235 

lived  within  her  little  circle  of  home,  her  child,  and  her 
art ;  painted,  as  in  her  youth,  sad  little  pictures  of  the 
scenes  about  her — stretches  of  gray  sea  under  a  somber 
sky,  ragged  headlands  with  the  wild  waves  surging  about 
them,  desolate  marshes  with  solitary  birds  hovering  over 
them,  and  dreary  fragments  of  wrecks  with  dead  bodies 
lashed  to  them.  Here  and  there  among  them  would 
nestle  a  little  rosy  sketch  of  her  child,  or  some  view  of 
Felmere  glorified  with  a  beauty  born  of  love  and  memory. 

So  the  summer  faded  into  autumn,  and  the  sharp  Sep- 
tember winds  dispersed  the  gay  crowds  that  filled  the 
hotels  and  cottages,  and  left  the  little  seaport  town  at 
rest  in  its  own  quiet,  old-fashioned  beauty.  And  for  this 
Helen  was  glad.  'She  preferred  seeing  the  long  rows  of 
villas  on  the  avenue  shut  up  and  desolate ;  she  liked  its 
old-time  crooked  streets  best  when  they  were  empty  of 
gay  carriages  and  finely  dressed  visitors ;  for  in  her  mind 
the  frivolous  crowds  that  gathered  there  did  not  suit  the 
sadness  of  the  winds  and  the  waves. 

The  place  to  her  was  sad  with  an  infinite  grandeur 
that  seemed  to  raise  her  above  and  beyond  the  littlenesses 
of  life;  that  seemed  to  still  the  ever-reaching  longing 
within  her  that,  in  her  searchings  for  a  name,  she  called 
her  soul. 

"Was  that  her  soul  ? — this  thing  that  seemed  ever  striv- 
ing to  express  itself;  wailing  and  sobbing  for  lack  of  bet- 
ter speech,  tingeing  all  the  beautiful  with  a  shade  of  mis- 
ery, and  all  the  high  and  good  with  a  mist  of  tears !  Was 
that  her  soul  ?  That  "  something  "  these  Christians  be- 
lieved would  be  saved  or  damned ;  that  "  something," 
now  trammeled  with  "  fleshy  bonds,"  that  in  its  freedom 
would  soar  to  the  Infinite,  to  enjoy  or  suffer  infinitely ! 


236  THE  •  FELMERES. 

Was  this  "  divine  despair  "  within  her  a  portion  of  the 
all-pervading  unknowable  ?  This  was  something  she 
could  neither  understand  nor  quiet ;  that  made  the  rising 
storms — the  watching  the  waves  lash  themselves  into  a 
fury,  howling  and  crying  as  though  they  were  human — the 
hearing  the  winds  wail,  and  seeing  the  low  clouds  hur- 
rying by  torn  and  rifted — the  standing  alone,  far  out,  and 
feeling  the  wild  spray  about  her— a  fascination  to  her. 
And  so  living,  she  gathered  to  herself  a  patience  born 
of  beauty  and  the  nothingness  of  all;  a  patience  born 
of  pity  for  her  own  misshapen  lot;  a  patience  and  a 
sadness  that  pervaded  all  her  after-life  !  • 

At  last  the  day  came  when  Philip  wrote  requesting 
her  return,  the  seaside  being  now,  he  thought,  much  too 
bleak  for  the  child.  No  hint  of  wishing  to  see  her,  no 
anxiety  on  her  account !  only  the  tersely  given  opinion 
as  to  the  place  being  no  longer  beneficial  to  the  child,  and 
the  cold  request  that  for  this  reason  she  would  bring  him 
home. 

What  did  it  mean  ?  she  wondered.  Was  his  mother 
influencing  him  to  this  extent,  and  why  ?  She  could  not 
answer  the  question,  but  the  letter  made  her  more  than 
ever  realize  how  sorry  she  was  to  leave  her  little  home, 
where  she  had  found  somewhat  of  happiness,  and  go 
back  to  the  false  conventionalities  of  the  world,  and  the 
hypocrisies  of  her  husband's  family ;  but  of  course  she 
must  go,  and  the  orders  for  the  move  were  given. 

In  the  next  two  days  she  wandered  slowly  and  regret- 
fully from  one  to  the  other  of  her  favorite  haunts  to  say 
a  last  good-by  :  she  hoped  she  would  see  them  again  some 
day,  for  among  them  she  had  been  almost  happy. 

Happy  !    Alas !  had  she  ever  been  happy  ?   Was  there 


THE  FELMERES.  237 

such  a  thing  as  happiness  for  her  ?  Felix  had  said  she 
would  be  happy  somewhere.  Poor  fellow !  how  he  had 
loved  her,  and  how  pitiful  his  blessing  had  sounded  in 
her  ears ;  and  his  faith  that  she  would  be  rewarded  for 
her  course  and  be  happy  "  somewhere  "  was  so  simple  and 
so  beautiful !  He  could  not  let  himself  believe  that  all 
her  life  would  be  of  one  somber  hue ;  some  joy  must  touch 
her  sooner  or  later.  Ah,  he  had  loved  her  truly ;  and  for 
his  sake,  as  well  as  her  own,  she  hoped  it  might  be,  though 
she  could  not  think  it  would. 

So  she  reflected,  standing  alone  and  far  out  on  a  jut- 
ting crag,  looking  a  last  farewell  on  her  favorite  view. 
Tire  day  had  darkened  before  a  coming  storm ;  the  clouds 
scudded  low  in  hurrying  crowds ;  the  fitful  wind,  moan- 
ing now  as  sadly  as  a  broken  heart,  now  rising  with  a 
sudden  dash  into  a  high  wild  shriek,  lashed  the  sullen 
waves  to  a  fury,  boiling  and  hurling  them  to  and  fro  until 
they  howled  like  human  souls  in  hell's  deep  agony — until 
it  seemed  as  if,  in  impotent  despair,  they  strove  with  thin 
foam-hands  to  clutch  and  hold  the  mighty  cliffs !  Already 
the  storm  wailed  sad  among  the  scanty  seaside  trees,  and 
far  and  near  the  screaming  birds  flew  inland  from  the 
rising  wind. 

"With  tight-clasped  hands,  and  set  white  face,  and  eyes 
brimful  of  all  heart-breaking  sorrow,  Helen  stood  a  pic- 
ture of  despair,  framed  in  the  wan  storm-light.  The  wild- 
ness  of  the  storm  entered  into  her ;  the  waves  in  their 
anguish  seemed  to  call  to  her ;  the  sorrows  of  her  life 
seemed  too  much  for  her.  Why  not  end  it  there  ?  why 
drag  on  a  weary  existence  that  she  loathed  ?  why  go 
back  to  the  torments  and  the  trials  of  her  life  ?  why 
not  now  solve  the  mystery  of  death,  the  truth  or  false- 


238  THE   FELMERES. 

hood  of  eternity  ?  A  swift  plunge — a  little  struggle  with 
the  mighty  waters — a  last  sharp  breath— a  quiet  floating 
on  the  wandering  waves — a  resting  on  some  sea-beaten 
shore ! 

Why  not  ? 

A  hand  closed  on  her  arm,  and  a  voice  said  in  her  ear : 

"  Come  away ! " 

She  started,  and  turning  quickly  saw  beside  her  a 
small,  ill-dressed  man,  almost  a  hunchback.  She  made  as 
though  she  would  have  drawn  away,  but  a  strange  power 
in  the  great  brown  eyes  held  her,  and  looking  deep  in 
them  she  wondered  what  it  was. 

"  Yesterday  I  saw  you  with  your  child,"  he  said ; 
u  you  must  go  back  to  it  now." 

A  rush  of  love  and  memory  for  her  .little  one  throbbed 
through  her :  how  could  she  have  forgotten  him ! 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  as  though  in  a  dream,  and 
turning  left  the  sad-faced  man  alone. 


"  Full  desertness 

In  souls  as  countries,  lieth  silent-bare 
Under  the  blanching,  vertical  eye- glare 
Of  the  absolute  heavens." 


PART    THIRD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  '  But  woe  is  me  I     I  think  there  is  no  sun  ; 
My  sun  is  sunken,  and  the  night  grows  dark : 
None  care  for  me.' " 

MRS.  FELMERE  had  prophesied  a  two  weeks'  delay 
before  Helen  would  so  much  as  answer  Philip's  letter,  so 
that  Helen's  appearance  in  the  "  sitting-room  "  the  fifth 
evening  after  the  letter  had  been  sent  gave  them  quite  a 
shock.  She*  had  opened  the  door  quietly,  and  stood 
watching  for  a  moment  tie  two  silent  occupants  of  the 
room :  Philip  in  a  low-hung  reading-chair,  his  book  turned 
down  on  his  knee,  his  arms  crossed,  and  his  head  bent 
until  his  chin  rested  on  his  breast ;  Mrs.  Felmere  under 
the  full  glare  of  the  lamp,  knitting,  and  casting  from 
time  to  time  furtive  glances  at  her  son.  The  fire  in  the 
grate  looked  dull  and  red,  the  place  and  people  somber ; 
and  as  she  came  forward,  Helen  could  not  help  sighing 
deeply. 

Mrs.  Felmere  dropped  her  knitting,  and  Philip,  start- 
ing up  with  a  hurried  exclamation,  let  his  book  fall  to 
the  floor.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  How  have  you  come 
so  soon  ? " 

11 


242  THE  FELMEEES. 

"You  wrote  for  me,"  Helen  answered,  pausing  in 
her  approach  with  a  look  of  surprise  on  her  face,  "  and  I 
came  ;  did  you  not  expect  me  to  do  so  ? " 

"  Oh  yes ;  yes,  of  course,"  Philip  said  quickly  ;  then, 
recollecting  that  he  had  not  in  any  way  greeted  his  wife, 
he  stepped  forward,  seeming  much  embarrassed,  and 
kissed  her.  Then  Mrs.  Felmere  also  came  and  kissed  her, 
and  Helen  sat  down.  Then  the  child  received  more  at- 
tention, but  being  asleep  was  sent  to  bed,  and  the  three 
were  left  together. 

""We  did  not  expect  you  so  soon,"  Mrs.  Felmere 
began,  "  or  Philip  would  certainly  have  met  you." 

"  Of  course  he  would,"  Helen  answered,  and  won- 
dered why  Philip  could  not  say  that  for  himself. 

"  You  should  have  telegraphed,"  Philip  said. 

"  I  never  thought  of  it,"  Helen  answered.  "  In  your 
letter  you  said,  ( Come  as  soon  as  possible,'  and  did  you 
not  know  that  would  be  to-day  ? " 

Her  voice  was  very  quiet,  but  all  tKe  while  the 
thought  coming  up  to  her  that,  this  was  home  gave  her  a 
feeling  almost  of  desperation !  Her  temporary  servants 
whom  she  had  just  left  had  always  given  her  a  warmer 
welcome  after  a  day's  absence ;  and  she  wondered  what 
had  come  over  Philip,  at  the  same  time  casting  about  for 
some  polite  excuse  that  would  allow  her  to  retire  to  her 
own  room. 

Mrs.  Felmere  scanned  her  closely.  "  You  are  not 
looking  very  well,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  I  am  only  a  little  tired,"  Helen  answered. 

Then  Philip  looked  at  her  more  narrowly,  but  he  said 
nothing. 


THE   FELMERES.  243 

"  The  family — are  they  all  well  ? "  Helen  asked  after 
a  few  moments. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered,  "  all  except  my  sister 
Esther ;  she  is  far  from  well.  Amelia  is  engaged  to  Mr. 
Tolman." 

Helen  looked  up  quickly.  "  Indeed  !  I  had  not  heard 
that."  Then  more  slowly  :  "  I  hope  they  will  be  very 
happy,"  and  she  wondered  if  Amelia  loved  him. 

"  She  ought  to  be,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered ;  "  he  is 
everything  that  any  woman  could  desire  or  deserve ;  and 
even  if  Amelia  does  not  all  at  once  love  him,  she  is  such 
a  good  Christian  that  love  will  soon  come  through  her 
submission  and  desire  to  please  him.  But  I  believe  she 
loves  him  now." 

Philip  crossed  and  uncrossed  his  legs  nervously :  were 
they  going  to  quarrel  already  ?  And  Helen,  looking  into 
the  fire,  answered  simply : 

"  I  sincerely  hope-  she  does,  else  she  will  be  very  un- 
happy." 

"  But  I  say  if  she  does  not,"  Mrs.  Felmere  persisted, 
"  she  will  make  it  her  pleasure  to  learn  to  do  it." 

"  Perhaps,"  Helen  answered,  "  but  it  is  a  desperate 
risk."  Then  she  changed  the  subject  by  asking  if  Miss 
Esther  was  really  very  sick. 

"Yery,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered  emphatically,  then 
closed  her  lips  as  though  that  subject  were  a  dead  letter 
between  Helen  and  herself. 

But  Philip,  who  felt  really  very  grateful  to  Helen  for 
not  quarreling  over  Amelia  when  she  had  been  offered 
such  a  good  opportunity,  and  being  anxious  to  help  in 
the  diversion  from  that  subject,  said  boldly : 

"  She  does  not  look  very  ill." 


244  THE   FELMERES. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  can  be  thinking  of,"  his 
mother  said  quickly  and  sharply ;  "  I  have  never  seen  any 
one  break  as  she  has  done.  It  is  true  she  has  brightened 
up  a  little  since  Amelia's  engagement,  for  she  says  it  is 
such  a  happiness  to  her  to  see  those  she  loves  uniting 
themselves  with  pure  good  Christians,  and  so  insuring 
both  their  temporal  and  eternal  happiness."  Then  Mrs. 
Felmere  sighed  deeply,  and  a  look  of  resignation  came 
over  her  face. 

If  Helen  had  not  felt  the  truth  that  was  in  these 
words,  the  truth  she  felt  too  deeply  every  moment  as 
exemplified  in  her  own  ill-assorted  marriage,  she  might 
have  smiled  at  the  spite  in  them.  As  it  was,  she  an- 
swered quietly,  without  even  the  desire  to  retort : 

"Aunt  Esther  has  always  admired  Mr.  Tolman." 

Her  listeners  were  surprised,  and  Mrs.  Felmere,  being 
made  rather  impatient  by  the  peacefulness  of  her  words, 
said  quickly : 

"  Of  course  she  has ;  and  every  one  who  has  any  ap- 
preciation of  goodness  and  worth  admires  Mr.  Tolman  ; 
indeed,  he  is  universally  esteemed." 

Helen  half  way  smiled  as  she  answered : 

"  He  seems  to  be  very  popular." 

Philip  was  much  relieved,  and  Mrs.  Felmere  was  really 
provoked  that  Helen  should  so  baffle  her.  What  did  this 
extraordinary  patience  on  her  part  mean  ?  Was  it  a  plan 
to  win  Philip  back  to  herself  ?  A  little  pang  of  jealousy 
shot  through  Mrs.  Felmere's  heart,  for  she  had  come  to 
feel  that  she  ought  to  stand  first  with  him  ;  and  now  she 
felt  it  more  than  ever  before  in  her  life.  With  the 
growth  of  this  feeling  her  antipathy  to  Philip's  wife  had 
rapidly  increased.  It  was  the  force  of  this  feeling  which 


THE   FELMERES.  24:5 

made  her  forget,  in  her  search  of  motives  for  her  daugh- 
ter-in-law's behavior,  that  Helen  had  not  yet  been  made 
aware  of  the  breach  which  slie  'had  been  preparing  be- 
tween her  husband  and  herself. 

"Had  you  a  pleasant  journey?"  Philip  asked,  feel- 
ing awkward  in  the  pause  that  followed  Helen's  last  re- 
mark. 

"  Not  very,"  was  the  answer ;  and  there  was  a  hope- 
less sound  in  the  voice,  as  though  the  speaker  was  asking 
herself :  "  Would  anything  ever  be  pleasant  again  \  " 

Mrs.  Felmere  caught  something  of  the  tone,  and 
looked  up  quickly.  "  Perhaps  you  were  not  anxious  to 
make  the  journey,"  she  said  deliberately. 

"  You  can  not  be  surprised  that  I  was  not  anxious  to 
come  back,"  Helen  answered  candidly,  wondering  the 
while  if  her  aunt  wished  to  quarrel  "  The  quiet  was 
delightful  to  me,  I  like  the  country  so  much  better  than 
town." 

Philip  straightened  up  in  his  chair.  "  It  was  only 
on  the  child's  account  that  I  suggested  your  return,"  he 
said  stiffly.  "  I  did  not  at  all  mean  to  coerce  your  move- 
ments." 

Helen  sat  quite  still  while  he  spoke,  and  listened  with 
a  surprise  that  was  almost  painful.  It  was  true  she  had 
never  loved  her  husband,  and  did  not  now  care  for  him 
to  any  great  degree ;  but  since  the  birth  of  her  child  she 
had  come  to  have  a  more  gentle  feeling  toward  him, 
more  as  though  peace  between  them  would  be  a  pleasant 
thing ;  and  coming  home  after  her  long  absence,  she  had 
determined  for  their  son's  sake  to  do  all  in  her  power  to 
put  things  on  a  happier  footing  in  the  family.  Mingled 
with  this  feeling  and  the  good  motive  inducing  it,  there 


246  THE  FELMERES. 

arose  from  the  same  source — from  the  love  for  her  child 
— another  feeling  and  another  motive.  The  knowledge 
that  her  husband  had  more  330  wer  over  the  child  than  she 
had,  power  enough  to  separate  her  from  it,  filled  her  with 
an  intense  fear  and  longing  to  do  all  to  make  her  stay 
under  his  roof  sure.  All  this  came  up  in  her  mind  and 
heart  as  Philip  spoke,  and,  without  looking  at  him,  she 
answered  slowly : 

"  I  know  that,  and  think  it  better  for  the  child  my- 
self." 

Philip  rattled  the  leaves  of  his  book,  with  a  fresh 
amount  of  wonder  at  Helen's  extraordinary  patience. 
Mrs.  Felmere,  knitting  diligently,  could  not  make  it  out ; 
and  Helen,  weary  of  it  all,  excused  herself  and  went  to 
her  own  room. 

Slowly  she  traversed  the  long  halls  and  mounted  the 
broad  stairway ;  slowly  her  thoughts  revolved  around  the 
questions,  "  How  could  she  bear  this  life  ? "  and  "What 
did  this  treatment  presage  ? "  Their  letters  had  been 
short  and  cool  during  her  absence,  but  not  to  an  ex- 
tent that  would  have  led  her  to  expect  this  state  of 
things,  and  the  fact  that  this  was  "  home  "  grew  blacker 
as  she  contemplated  it.  Home  !  and  no  hope  for  a  hap- 
pier one.  Ah,  it  was  desperate  ! 

On  reaching  her  room  she  found  that  the  servant,  out 
of  his  own  thoughtfulness,  had  put  refreshments  there 
for  her.  She  paused  a  moment,  touched  by  the  little  at- 
tention, then  turned  to  him  as  he  stood  waiting  for  fur- 
ther orders,  and  held  out  her  hand  in  greeting. 

"  Thank  you,  James,"  she  said ;  "  this  was  very 
thoughtful  of  you.  I  shall  not  need  anything  more." 

James  bowed  low ;  he  felt  honored  by  her  gracious 


THE   FELMERES.  247 

thanks,  and  asked  respectfully  after  her  health  and  after 
the  conduct  of  his  daughter,  who  filled  the  important  post 
of  nurse  to  the  child. 

"  Annie  has  been  very  good,"  the  mistress  answered ; 
"  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  with  her,  and  so  should  you  be, 
James." 

"Thank  you,  madam,  and  I  am,"  James  answered, 
then  left  the  room. 

Down  in  the  servants'  hall  talk  was  plenty  that  night. 
Young  Mrs.  Felmere's  arrival,  her  cool  reception,  her 
beauty  and  gentleness,  Master  Philip's  weakness  in  being 
managed  by  his  mother,  and  "  old  Mrs.  Felmere's  "  gen- 
eral disagreeableness,  were  some  of  the  themes.  Then 
there  was  a  whisper  that  "  Miss  Helen  "  would  not  be  al- 
lowed to  stay  long — Mrs.  Felmere  was  working  too  hard 
against  her.  The  coachman  had  heard  scraps  of  many 
conversations  to  this  effect  between  her  and  her  son  as 
he  drove  them  out  in  the  summer  afternoons.  James 
had  picked  up  a  great  deal  around  the  table,  and  the 
housemaid  had  heard  long  discussions  between  the  ladies 
of  the  Jourdan  family.  It  was  a  "  sin  and  a  shame," 
they  all  declared ;  for,  although  "  Miss  Helen  "  might 
not  be  a  Christian,  she  was  more  of  a  "  real  lady  "  than 
any  among  them ;  and  the  current  of  feeling  set  strong 
toward  her. 

Before  Helen  had  quite  finished  her  tea,  Philip 
knocked  at  the  door.  Annie  opened,  it,  and  stood  back, 
holding  it  wide.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  came  in 
and  went  to  the  crib  where  the  child  slept.  Helen  did 
not  move,  but,  thinking  that  perhaps  Philip  had  come  to 
make  peace  and  explain  her  reception,  she  motioned  An- 
nie to  leave  the  room.  For  a  few  moments  he  stood 


248  THE  FELMERES. 

looting  down  on  the  child,  then  turned  toward  the  door, 
and  said  slowly : 

"  I  only  came  to  tell  you  that  I  am  going  with  my 
mother  to  see  Aunt  Esther,  and  that  when  I  come  back 
I  shall  not  disturb  you,  as  I  am  at  present  in  my  bachelor 
quarters  on  the  other  side  of  the  house." 

"Yery  well,"  Helen  answered  quietly;  then  added, 
"  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,"  he  repeated,  and  held  out  his  hand. 
There  was  an  almost  imperceptible  hesitation  before 
Helen  laid  hers  in  it ;  then  he  left  the  room  and  went 
slowly  down  stairs. 

Very  slowly  he  went,  each  step  seeming  as  though  it 
would  be  the  last  in  that  direction,  and  as  if  he  would 
come  back.  Helen  listened  intensely.  At  last  he  paused. 
"  He  will  come,"  she  thought. 

Alas !  his  mother  was  listening.  "  Philip,  I  am  wait- 
ing," she  called,  and  he  went  on. 

Helen  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  She  did  not 
love  him  :  why  should  she  be  pained  ?  Even  so ;  but  in 
all  the  world  he  was  the  only  creature  she  had  any  right 
to  call  on  in  time  of  need ;  and  above  all,  he  had  the 
power  to  take  her  child  from  her !  She  raised  her  head. 
Was  this  to  be  a  separation,  and  why  ?  "What  had  she 
done  to  make  him  take  this  course  now  ?  She  had  been 
away  all  summer,  but  he  had  sent  her.  She  did  not  love 
him,  but  she  never  had,  and  he  had  always  known  it. 
She  was  not  a  Christian,  but  in  spite  of  that  he  had  in- 
sisted on  marrying  her.  Could  it  be  because  she  had 
acknowledged  to  him  her  love  for  Eelix  Gordon  ?  If  so, 
even  that  was  his  fault,  for  he  had  asked  her  the  direct 
question,  and  she  could  do  nothing  but  tell  the  truth. 


THE   FELMERES.  249 

Then,  with  the  memory  of  Felix,  her  thoughts  seemed 
to  slip  away  from  the  turbid  current  of  her  present  life 
into  a  stiller  stream,  between  green  banks,  by  nodding 
flowers,  back  to  the  old  days.  She  had  seen  him  again ; 
and,  though  changed,  yet  he  was  true,  and  she  could  feel 
that  there  was  one  thing  left  living  in  her  life  that  was 
not  a  delusion.  And  he  had  said  she  would  be  happy 
"  somewhere."  It  would  never  be  here,  and  was  there  a 
hereafter  ?  She  drove  the  thought  away ;  she  would  not 
go  back  to  the  old  never-ending  round  of  questions ;  it 
could  make  no  difference  to  her,  for  she  had  made  her 
choice,  and  would  abide  by  it.  "Somewhere!"  How 
the  sound  of  his  voice  came  back  to  her  with  that  piteous 
ring  of  despair  in  it ;  and  she  could  see  his  white  face 
as  it  had  looked  down  on  her  through  the  gloaming ;  she 
could  smell  the  sea-wind  and  the  poor  little  flowers  whose 
lives  he  had  crushed  out  under  his  heel  as  he  turned 
away ;  and  the  cry  of  the  waves  came  to  her  as  she  sat 
alone  in  the  heart  of  a  great  city. 

The  little  child  sighed  in  its  sleep,  and  the  sound 
brought  all  the  knowledge  of  her  present  life  to  her 
again ;  and  again  she  questioned  herself.  Would  this 
lead  to  a  separation,  and  what  had  caused  the  breach  ? 
She  thought  over  everything  she  had  done  or  said,  and 
could  not  solve  the  mystery. 

Suddenly  she  paused.  The  solution  of  it  lay  plain 
before  her— distinct  as  the  pictures  on  the  wall  or  the  fire 
that  burned  in  the  grate  !  The  love  had  been  all  on  one 
side — a  hopeless  love  that  had  died,  had  worn  itself  out, 
had  recoiled  upon  itself  and  choked  out  its  own  life. 
She  had  not  cared  for  it,  yet  now  that  it  was  gone  she 
missed  it ;  she  felt  lonely  and  cut  off  from  all  save  her 


250  THE   FELMERES. 

child.  She  went  near  the  crib  and  looked  down  on  the 
little  sleeper,  so  peaceful  and  innocent,  and  wished  from 
the  depths  of  her  heart  that  she  could  have  blinded  her- 
self to  the  faults  of  her  husband.  She  had  honestly- 
tried  to  do  it,  but  found  that  her  education  had  been  pe- 
culiarly fitted  for  the  discovery  of  those  very  weaknesses 
and  shortcomings  he  had  fallen  heir  to. 

"  Poor  Philip !  "  she  whispered  as  she  recommenced 
her  walking  to  and  fro ;  "  he  has  suffered  much,  and  a 
separation  would  be  much  happier  for  him."  She  paused 
in  front  of  the  fire.  Once  she  had  longed  for  a  separa- 
tion, and  even  now  would  agree  to  it  if  she  could  have 
the  child. 

A  chill  crept  over  her,  and  walking  to  the  crib  she 
took  her  baby  in  her  arms  :  she  would  serve  as  a  menial 
in  Philip's  house  rather  than  leave  her  child.  Yet,  if  he 
commanded  her  ?  She  paused.  Could  he  command  her 
to  leave  him  without  just  cause  ?  Surely  not !  Could 
she  humble  herself  to  the  extent  of  staying  in  his  house 
against  his  wishes  ?  Never  !  And  she  crushed  the  child 
to  her  bosom  with  such  force  that  he  waked  with  a  pite- 
ous cry  ;  and  with  the  sound  of  that  little  startled  voice 
all  her  self-control  came  back  to  her.  Gently  she  hushed 
him  to  sleep,  and  when  again  he  was  quiet,  a  calmer  train 
of  thought  had  come  to  her. 

Of  course  she  could  not  expect  Philip  to  give  up  the 
child,  for  he  was  the  last  of  the  name,  and  a  son ;  and 
realizing  this,  she  must  make  up  her  mind  what  she 
would  do  in  case  Philip  proposed  her  leaving  him.  She 
could  not  argue  these  questions  calmly  with  the  child  in 
her  arms  ;  so,  stopping  in  her  walk,  she  laid  him  in  the 
crib,  then  took  her  seat  near  the  fire.  If  it  came  at  all, 


THE  FELMEEES.  251 

she  thought  it  would  only  be  a  private  separation,  with 
no  law  and  no  publicity  about  it,  so  that  there  could  only 
be  a  private  arrangement  as  to  the  child  ;  and  how  would 
this  be  managed  ?  Turn  the  question  as  she  would,  she 
could  see  but  one  solution :  six  months  -with  her,  six 
months  with  its  father.  Would  this  do  ?  Would  it  not 
be  the  surest  way  to  ruin  the  child  and  to  make  them  all 
bitterly  unhappy  ?  She  paused.  This  was  too  true ;  and 
they  must  agree  to  live  together,  or  one  or  the  other 
must  give  up  entirely  ! 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  A  thousand  times 
better  for  her  that  she  should  have  ended  her  miserable 
life  than  that  it  should  come  to  this  ;  and  if  that  wretched 
man  had  not  stopped  her,  she  would  have  been  at  peace 
now — dead ! 

She  rose,  and  again  began  her  walking  to  and  fro ; 
for  she  could  not  sit  still  and  think  calmly  on  such  a 
subject.  Once  more  she  paused  beside  the  child,  and, 
looking  on  him  and  beyond  him  to  the  future,  her  lips 
turned  white  and  her  hands  clinched  themselves  convul- 
sively together.  She  could  not  bear  it ;  she  would  appeal 
to  the  law  before  she  would  give  up  her  child  ;  if  the  law 
decided  in  Philip's  favor,  then  Philip  would  have  to 
bring  the  law  to  bear  to  force  her  child  away  !  Slowly 
her  hands  unclasped  themselves,  and  a  coldness  of  horror 
crept  over  her  white  face  and  half-parted  lips.  Would 
the  law  protect  an  unbeliever  ?  She  grasped  the  back  of 
a  chair  to  support  herself.  Where  had  the  thought  come 
from  ?  Would  Philip  think  of  it  ?  Was  there  any  truth 
in  it? 

A  feeling  of  hatred  and  defiance  against  Philip  and 
his  mother  was  growing  up  within  her.  They  should 


252  THE  FELMEEES. 

not  take  her  child  !  She  would  run  away  with  it,  would 
hide  it !  How  her  head  ached,  and  how  her  brain  seemed 
to  throb  and  swell ! 

"  O  father,"  she  whispered,  "  if  you  were  only  here  to 
help  me  and  tell  me  what  to  do ! " 

Suddenly  a  remembrance  came  to  her,  and  taking  a 
light  she  went  down  to  the  library  where  the  picture  of 
"  King  Arthur "  stood.  She  put  the  light  on  a  stand 
near  by,  and  knelt  before  the  picture  as  before  a  shrine. 
She  had  not  seen  it  for  so  long  that  now  it  burst  on  her 
with  redoubled  force. 

"  Father,  father ! "  she  whispered,  and  her  sobs 
swelled  into  a  storm  of  grief.  All  the  past  came  back  ; 
all  the  sorrow  she  had  through  all  her  life  controlled,  all 
the  tears  she  had  smothered,  found  vent  with  redoubled 
force,  while  the  hours  swept  on  and  the  night  waned. 

And  she  did  not  know  that  Philip  and  his  mother, 
passing  by  on  the  thickly  carpeted  floors,  had  paused  and 
looked  on  her  crouching  in  the  dim  light;  had  listened 
to  her  wild  sobs ;  had  gone  away  without  speaking  or 
looking  at  each  other — gone  away  and  left  her  to  the 
blank  bitterness  of  her  own  heart !  She  was  all  uncon- 
scious that  she  had  been  watched;  and  when  she  had 
worn  out  the  violence  of  her  suffering,  and  her  sobs  had 
ceased,  she  looked  up  into  the  face  of  the  "  Great  King  " 
that  seemed  to  sympathize  with  her  despair;  she  gazed 
on  it  as  though  she  would  put  life  into  the  eyes  and 
speech  upon  the  lips  ! 

At  last  she  rose. 

"He  would  have  been  calm  and  strong,"  she  said, 
"  and  waited  quietly  until  the  trouble  came ;  he  would 
have  stooped  to  no  deceit,  nor  will  I;  he  would  have 


THE   FELMERES.  253 

asked  for  no  mercy,  and  I  will  not.  If  any  trouble  comes, 
I  will  bear  it,  and  through  all  I  will  study  only  the  good 
of  my  child — as  he  did  for  me." 

She  paused  a  little  before  her  last  words ;  for  when 
she  thought  of  it  all,  she  felt  that  his  actions  had  not  at 
all  worked  for  her  good ;  but  he  had  meant  all  for  her 
good,  and  so  had  acted  to  the  best  of  his  judgment.  So 
she  said  the  words ;  and  then,  as  one  taking  an  oath,  she 
laid  her  lips  on  the  unanswering  canvas,  and  left  it. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  house  was  astir,  Philip 
stood  on  the  spot  where  he  had  seen  his  wife  the  night 
before — stood  there  scanning  the  picture  closely.  "  Aha ! " 
The  exclamation  was  made  below  his  breath;  then,  he 
straightened  himself,  and  his  face  darkened  strangely. 
In  one  corner  of  the  picture  he  had  found  the  letters 
"F.  G.,"  and  the  date  "18—,"  the  very  year  after  he 
had  left  Felmere !  Ah,  what  a  blind  fool  he  had  been, 
never  to  put  things  together !  Gordon  had  painted  this 
picture — Felix  Gordon — and  had  probably  done  it  while 
at  Felmere !  All  those  wild  sobs,  that  long  midnight 
vigil,  meant  Felix  Gordon !  And  Mrs.  Beaumont  had 
seen  them  together  at  the  seaside ! 

He  "glared  at  the  picture ;  he  longed  to  cut  it  to  pieces, 
to  burn  it,  to  dash  it  from  the  window — anything  that 
would  destroy  it  and  for  ever  remove  it  from  his  sight, 
now  that  he  hated  it  so  much.  For  a  long  time  he  stood 
there  battling  with  himself,  debating,  reasoning,  planning, 
but  coming  to  no  conclusion  save  that  he  was  learning  to 
hate  his  wife ! 


254  THE  FELMERES. 


CHAPTER    II. 

"  Change,  reverting  to  the  years, 

When  thy  nerves  could  understand 
What  there  is  in  loving  tears, 
And  the  warmth  of  hand  in  hand." 

THE  next  morning  after  Helen's  arrival  brought  a 
note  from  Mrs.  Yanzandt. 

"If  dear  Helen  will  come  to  me  tins  morning,  I 
shall  eternally  thank  her !     As  refreshing  showers  after 
summer  heat,  so  will  dear  Helen's  presence  be  to  me. 
"  Devotedly, 

"VALERIA  VANZANDT." 

These  few  words,  written  in  a  strictly  fashionable 
hand,  on  strictly  fashionable  paper,  covered  a  whole  sheet, 
and  took  at  least  twenty  minutes  to  decipher ;  but  Helen 
read  to  the  end  with  admirable  patience,  and  answered 
in  her  honest  round  hand,  on  plain  square  paper,  that  she 
would  surely  come.  She  said  nothing  to  any  one  of  her 
intended  visit ;  for  on  the  preceding  evening  it  had  been 
made  painfully  clear  to  her  that  her  presence  in  the  house 
was  of  no  consequence.  She  therefore  quietly  ordered 
her  private  carriage,  and,  sending  the  nurse  and  child 
down  stairs  ahead  of  her,  was  about  to  follow  them  when 
Mrs.  Felmere,  meeting  her  on  the  landing,  stopped  her. 

"  I  think  it  is  too  cold  for  the  child,"  she  said. 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  Helen  answered ;  "  it  is 


THE  FELMERES.  255 

quite  pleasant,  and  a  drive  will  do  him  good.     Besides,  I 
wish  Valeria  to  see  him  while  he  is  looking  so  well." 

"  Of  course,"  Mrs.  Felmere  rejoined,  "  it  is  as  you 
please.  I  can  only  warn  and  advise ;  I  can  not  prevent. 
You  know,  also,  our  feeling  about  Mrs.  Yanzandt  ?  " 

Mrs.  Felmere's  tones  were  those  of  an  injured  and 
much  aggrieved  person ;  and  Helen,  listening,  paused  a 
moment  before  she  spoke,  then  said  gently : 

"  I  know,  aunt,  that  you  do  not  now  like  my  friend  ; 
but  you  once  liked  her  and  made  her  known  to  me.  Now 
I  can  not  give  her  up,  for  I  believe  she  is  true  to  me,  and 
I  am  fond  of  her." 

Mrs.  Felmere  bowed,  and  in  the  action  there  was  a 
world  of  unspoken  sarcasm.  "Yes,"  she  said;  "and  you 
intend,  I  suppose,  to  continue  fond  of  her  in  spite  of 
everything  ? " 

Helen  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  wisely  paused 
a  moment  to  think  whether  she  should  do  so  or  not. 
Deciding  quickly  that  it  was  not  worth  her  while,  she 
turned  to  descend,  when  a  sudden  thought,  came  to  her 
that  made  her  change  her  mind. 

"Aunt,"  she  said,  "please  tell  me  the  worst  thing 
against  Valeria."  And  the  voice  was  so  quiet  and  con- 
ciliating, so  much  the  voice  of  a  person  asking  for  advice, 
that  Mrs.  Felmere  was  surprised.  She  had  never  in  all 
her  experience  of  her  known  Helen  to  feign  anything, 
and  yet  what  other  explanation  was  there  for  this  patience 
and  gentleness  ?  After  a  moment  of  wondering,  she  an- 
swered : 

"  She  is  a  divorced  woman,  and  we  ought  not  to  hold 
such  people  in  much  respect.  Besides,  the  world  says 
she  was  to  blame." 


256  THE  FELMERES. 

"  Do  you  think  a  divorce  a  disgrace  ?  " 

Helen  stood  looking  straight  down  into  her  aunt's 
eyes  in  a  searching  manner  that  was  not  very  agreeable. 
Mrs.  Felmere  shifted  her  position  uneasily  once  or  twice ; 
then,  suddenly  standing  quite  still,  she  answered  in  a 
decided  tone : 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  And  Philip  also  ? " 

Mrs.  Felmere  stood  still  now  and  scanned  the  face 
before  her  curiously  as  she  replied.: 

"  Yes,  my  son  also :  all  Christians  ought  to  think  so." 

Helen  stood  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  moment,  then 
went  on : 

"On  whom  do  you  think  the  disgrace  falls  more 
heavily  in  general,  the  man  or  the  woman  ? " 

"  On  the  woman,"  was  answered  unhesitatingly. 

Helen  looked  at  her  a  moment,  as  though  she  had  not 
heard  her  words  and  was  thinking  of  something  very  far 
away  from  the  subject  under  discussion.  At  last  she 
spoke — spoka  slowly  and  musingly  as  though  to  herself. 

"  But  the  children,"  she  said,  "  suffer  the  most ;  for 
they  have  the  disgrace  without  being  sustained  by  the 
strength  of  the  motive  that  drove  their  parents  to  take 
the  step."  Then  for  a  moment  she  stood  silent,  and  Mrs. 
Felmere  watching  her  was  puzzled. 

"  Poor  Valeria  !  "  Helen  went  on  after  a  little  while  ; 
<£  I  will  not  believe  she  was  in  fault."  And,  without  a 
word  of  explanation  or  a  word  of  farewell,  she  turned 
away  in  a  slow,  preoccupied  manner  and  went  down  to 
the  carriage,  where  the  nurse  and  child  already  awaited 
her. 

And  Mrs.  Felmere,  watching  her  from  the  landing, 


THE   FELMERES.  257 

seemed  to  catch  the  look  from  her  face,  and  in  the  prob- 
lem that  opened  before  her  forgot  the  dispute  over  the 
child. 

"  Was  Helen  going  to  sue  for  a  divorce  ? "  she  pon- 
dered ;  "  and  in  such  case  what  should  be  done  ? " 

"  Philip  will  not  go  to  law,"  Helen  thought ;  "  he 
thinks  it  a  disgrace.  What  then  ? " 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  said  all  in  praise  of  the  child  that  could 
be  expected  or  desired — so  much  that  both  mother  and 
nurse  agreed  in  pronouncing  her  a  woman  of  much  judg- 
ment. Then  the  child  was  sent  for  a  drive  round  the 
park,  and  Mrs.  Yanzandt  made  known  to  her  friend  the 
urgent  need  there  was  for  her  presence.  "  An  art  recep- 
tion, dear,  to-morrow ;  and  behold !  with  all  my  invita- 
tions out,  three  of  the  best  pictures  have  failed  me !  Is  it 
not  awful  ?  Utterly  dreadful,  and  you  can  appreciate  my 
despair !  And  now,  I  want  to  beg  you  to  fill  their  places ; 
can  you,  and  will  you  ?  Your  pictures  are  all  lovely,  and 
peculiar  also ;  they  will,  I  know,  be  admired,  for  your 
style  is  not  at  all  commonplace.  Will  you  ?  " 

Helen  looked  doubtful.  Her  pictures  were  almost 
sacred  to  her,  and  she  did  not  like  or  wish  to  put  them 
on  exhibition  for  the  public ;  yet  it  would  seem  very  un- 
kind, not  to  help  her  friend  out  of  her  dilemma. 

"  We  can  send  for  them,"  she  said  slowly,  "  and  de- 
termine if  any  of  them  will  do.  Most  of  them,  how- 
ever, are  up  stairs  in  this  very  house.  I  have  made  only 
a  very  few  this  summer,  but  you  can  send  for  them  if 
you  like.  I  will  write  a  note." 

Mrs.  Yanzandt's  thanks  were  profuse,  and  the  pic- 
tures were  sent  for. 


258  THE  FELMERES. 

"  And  now,  dear,  while  we  are  waiting  I  will  order 
in  a  little  lunch,  and  we  can  exchange  a  few  remarks." 

Helen  smiled  as  though  she  were  tired. 

"  You  begin  then,  Valeria,"  she  said,  "  for  I  have  nei- 
ther the  ideas  nor  spirits  necessary  for  even  a  '  few  re- 
marks.' ': 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  poured  out  some  wine  for  her  friend, 
then  for  herself,  saying  soberly  the  while  : 

"  You  should  remember,  my  dear  child,  the  remark 
that  *  to  those  who  think,  life  is  a  farce;  to  those  who 
feel,  a  tragedy ' ;  and  surely  you  are  among  the  thought- 
ful?" 

"Yes,"  Helen  answered,  "I  ought  to  be  ;  I  was  regu- 
larly trained  to  think.  But  I  doubt,  Yaleria,  if  life  ever 
becomes  a  farce  even  to  the  most  thoughtful  until  their 
feelings  are  worn  out." 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  arched  her  black  eyebrows,  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  would  not  wait  to  wear  my  feelings  out,"  she  said, 
rather  bitterly ;  "  I  would,  without  further  demur,  anni- 
hilate them — that  is,  if  I  were  as  you  are." 

Her  companion  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  So  you  think,"  she  said  in  a  voice  full  of  despair ; 
"  but  you  have  never  had  a  child." . 

The  pretty  dark  face  of  the  woman  opposite  worked 
strangely  for  a  moment,  and  her  answer  came  slowly  and 
with  difficulty : 

"Yes— I  have." 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  dead  silence ;  for  Helen 
was  more  than  pained  to  have  so  wounded  her  friend, 
and  was  besides  astonished  out  of  all  words.  At  last 
she  broke  the  silence. 


THE  FELMERES.  259 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Valeria,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I 
did  not  know — I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you." 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  recovered  herself. 

"  Of  course  you  did  not ;  I  understand.  I  do  not 
mind  it  very  much  now ;  it  has  been  long  enough  for 
me  to  get  over  it  somewhat,  for  my  child  died  many 
years  ago,  and  when  it  was  only  a  few  months  old.5> 
There  was  a  little  pause  ;  then  she  went  on  in  the  same 
quiet,  musing  voice :  "  And  I  was  glad  it  died,  for  I  could 
not  have  kept  it ;  the  law  would  have  given  it  to  its 
father,  and  this  would  have  made  both  it  and  me  utterly 
miserable." 

A  chill  crept  over  Helen  as  she  listened.  The  law 
would  in  any  case  go  -against  her,  and  appealing  to  it 
would  only  insure  the  loss  of  her  child  ! 

"My  dear,  you  are  spilling  your  wine  all  over  your 
dress ! "  and  Mrs.  Vanzandt  made  a  sudden  dash  with 
her  napkin  into  Helen's  lap. 

Helen  started,  and  the  glass  fell  to  the  floor  with  a 
little  crash. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said,  looking  helplessly  into  the 
astonished  face  of  her  friend.  "  I  could  not  help  it. 
And,  Valeria,  are  you  sure  about  that?  " 

"  About  what ! "  Mrs.  Vanzandt's  voice  sounded  al- 
most frightened,  and  the  look  of  bewilderment  increased 
on  her  face :  was  Helen  losing  her  wits ! 

Helen  rose,  and  walking  to  a  window  answered 
slowly : 

"  Nothing.  I  have  changed  my  mind,  dear,  and  you 
must  excuse  me  without  an  explanation." 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the  pic- 
tures ;  and  to  Helen,  at  least,  the  interruption  was  more 


260  THE  FELMERES. 

than  welcome.  Mrs.  Yanzandt  soon  selected  what  was 
needful  to  fill  the  places  left  vacant,  and,  the  child  com- 
ing in  as  she  finished,  Helen  rose  to  go — glad  to  be  free 
to  think,  glad  to  be  once  more  alone ;  promising  faith- 
fully, however,  to  come  the  next  day. 

"  And  the  law  will  not  give  me  the  child,"  she  pon- 
dered. "  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

Once  more  she  stole  down  into  the  library  to  ask 
counsel  of  the  picture,  and  to  seek  comfort  in  the  strong 
face  of  her  father. 

"  He  would  have  been  strong,"  she  thought ;  "  he 
would  not  have  cringed  or  deceived ;  he  would  have  been 
calm  and  patient.  Oh,  my  father — my  father ! " 

And  Philip,  coming  in,  found  her  standing  there. 
She  saw  him  coming,  but  she  did  not  move. 

"  You  love  that  picture,"  he  said,  pausing  near  her. 

"Yes." 

Philip  went  on  more  slowly : 

"  Gordon  must  have  painted  that  about  the  time  you 
first  knew  him." 

"Yes;  he  painted  it  at  Felmere."  The  voice  was 
very  quiet,  and  the  face  as  unconcerned  as  though  they 
were  discussing  the  weather  ;  and  to  her  it  did  seem  but 
little  more  now,  for  that  time  was  so  far  away,  and  it 
appeared  such  a  gentle  grief  in  comparison  with  the  sor- 
row that  now  overshadowed  her.  But  her  unconcern 
made  Philip  angry. 

"  That  accounts,  then,  for  the  likeness  to  your  father," 
he  said  quickly. 

"  Yes,  my  father  was  our  model." 

"Ah!  you  helped  in  it?" 

"Yes." 


THE   FELMERES.  261 

"  You  never  told  me  all  this  before,"  Philip  went  on 
coldly. 

"You  never  asked  me  before,"  she  answered  with 
studied  slowness.  She  was  trying  not  to  be  scornful  nor 
cross ;  it  would  not  be  wise  to  anger  him  unnecessarily  ; 
and  yet  she  did  not  wish  to  be  too  polite  or  gentle,  lest 
she  should  be  tempted  to  go  further  and  cringe  a  little 
in  order  to  be  allowed  to  remain  with  her  child.  And 
now,  since  Philip  as  it  were  put  her  at  the  bar  to  be 
questioned  and  judged,  she  felt  as  though  she  would 
rather  die  or  go  away  than  humble  herself  to  him. 

Meanwhile  Philip  stood  looking  out  of  the  window 
as  though  arranging  his  next  words,  finally  breaking  on 
her  thoughts  with — 

"  There  is  a  new  piece  by  Gordon — it  is  down  at  Pit- 
telli'^j — called  'By  the  Sea.'  Have  you  seen  it ? " 

"No." 

"  It  was  painted  last  summer  while  he  was  at  the  sea- 
side." 

"  Doubtless."  Why  did  he  not  ask  her  the  honest, 
direct  question  ?  He  knew  she  would  answer  truly. 
But  patience  was  wisest  just  now;  and,  although  she 
longed  to  express  her  contempt  for  his  little  hints,  she 
stood  quite  still  and  silent,  and  Philip  went  on : 

"  Mrs.  Beaumont  said  you  seemed  to  be  old  friends." 
He  was  watching  her  closely,  and  she  looked  at  him 
steadily. 

"  And  was  it  necessary  for  Mrs.  Beaumont  to  corrob- 
orate the  statement  I  made  to  you  years  ago  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  You  did  not  meet  as  old-  friends  at  Mrs.  Tilmont's 
ball,"  he  answered  slowly. 


262  THE   FELJ\fERES. 

This  was  hard  to  be  borne ;  but,  putting  a  still  strong- 
er curb  on  herself,  she  kept  silent  until  the  first  hot  rush 
of  her  indignation  passed,  then  said  with  deliberate  cold- 
ness : 

"  I  do  not  like  your  tone,  Philip  ;  there  is  something 
behind  which  you  do  not  seem  willing  to  speak  out 
honestly.  If  you  and  your  mother  suspect  me,  there  is 
nothing  easier  than  to  watch  me,  and  I  am  willing  that 
you  should  do  so."  She  stopped  suddenly,  for  she  felt 
her  anger  again  getting  the  better  of  her.  She  turned 
and  left  the  room. 

That  it  was  natural  for  Philip  to  suspect  her,  was  a 
fact  she  had  often  looked  at  squarely  and  imagined  that 
she  realized ;  but,  coming  home  to  her  as  it  had  done  in 
the  last  few  days,  reason  as  she  would,  she  could  not 
reconcile  herself  to  the  justice  of  it.  It  was  truc^that 
Philip,  knowing  that  she  had  little  regard  for  the  bonds 
forged  for  humanity  by  either  custom  or  religion — know- 
ing that  she  was  neither  guided  nor  swayed  by  any  of  the 
hopes  and  fears  engendered  by  a  belief  in  future  rewards 
and  punishments — had  almost  aright  to  be  uneasy.  Fur- 
thermore, he  knew  she  did  not  love  him,  and  this,  to  a 
man  of  his  narrow  views  and  education,  was  enough  to 
condemn  her  at  once.  He  could  not  comprehend  a  per- 
son being  true  for  truth's  sake ;  for  all  his  life  he  had 
been  furnished  with  motives  other  than  this. 

Helen  saw  and  knew  all  these  things,  and,  trying 
honestly  to  make  excuses  for  him,  succeeded  until  the 
reflection  assailed  her  that  in  all  their  intercourse  she 
had  never  told  him  anything  but  the  most  unshadowed 
truth,  and  that  in  remembrance  of  this  he  ought  to  spare 
her  these  insults.  More  than  this,  it  was  his  own  fault 


THE   FELMERES.  263 

that  lie  stood  where  he  was ;  and  although  she  pitied  him, 
yet  he  only  was  to  blame,  and  had  no  right  to  visit  his 
mistake  on  her.  He  had  been  weak  enough  to  be  man- 
aged by  his  mother,  and  must  now  abide  by  the  conse- 
quences. So  she  argued  as  she  walked  up  and  down  her 
room  trying  to  calm  her  temper.  What  her  father  had 
said  was  true  :  peace  was  better  than  all,  and  peace  lived 
on  the  heights.  She  must  rise  above  the  tangle  and  tor- 
ment in  which  she  stood,  for  she  could  never  step  out  of 
them.  Then  there  came  to  her  mind  the  conversation  they 
had  had  so  long  ago  about  the  worm  crawling  to  the  top 
of  the  post,  out  of  the  dust  and  above  its  fellows.  Her 
father  had  been  right ;  she  had  come  fully  to  agree  with 
him  that  starvation  on  the  post  was  better  than  the  tur- 
moil and  the  dust ;  and  while  she  thought,  the  words  of 
the  great  poet  came  to  her,  "  On  every  height  there  lies 
repose."  Could  she  not  gain  some  height — was  she  inca- 
pable of  rising  ?  Surely  not !  She  would  rise ;  she  would 
recover  her  self-control.  Philip  should  not  know  that 
she  minded  his  coldness  and  anger,  or  in  any  way  re- 
sented them. 

Philip  angry  !  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
as  the  thought  of  the  dreadful  power  he  held  came  to 
her !  Had  she  made  him  angry  enough  to  send  her  away  ? 
If  she  had,  who  was  there  to  counsel  her  ?  And  if  he 
should  take  her  child  from  her,  who  to  protect  or  comfort 
her? 

She  walked  the  room  in  a  terror  of  agitation  !  She 
tried  vainly  to  recall  her  resolutions  to  do  as  she  thought 
her  father  would  have  done  in  her  place ;  to  wait  calmly 
until  the  trial  came,  then  to  study  only  the  good  of  the 
child.  Of  course  she  must  train  herself  to  face  this  sor- 


264:  THE   FELMERES. 

row  and  self-abnegation,  and  she  would  be  wiser  to  begin 
at  once. 

She  took  one  or  two  more  turns  up  and  down  the 
room;  then,  sitting  down  and  crossing  her  arms  on  a 
table,  put  her  face  down  on  them,  and  tried  to  think. 

Would  the  child  do  better  without  her  ?  As  a  flash 
of  light  the  answrer  darted  across  the  chaotic  gloom  of  her 
misery :  Yes !  She  crushed  her  face  more  closely  down, 
and  drove  herself  to  follow  out  this  thought.  She  would 
be  only  a  weight  about  his  happiness ;  a  weight  to  drag 
him  down  to  where  she  stood  in  cold,  hopeless  misery ;  a 
bar  that  would  separate  him  from  his  kind;  a  shadow 
that,  blotting  out  all  hope,  would  darken  all  his  life! 
How  had  her  life  and  happiness  fared  under  her  training  ? 
Alas  !  a  blankness  of  despair  and  misery  seemed  to  sweep 
over  her  as  she  looked  back  over  her  empty,  aimless  days 
— as  she  looked  forward  to  her  hopeless  future  !  Should 
she  doom  her  child  to  that  ? 

Once,  in  the  years  that  were  gone,  she  had  heard  a 
poor  woman  cry  out  in  her  despair,  "  Oh  !  my  God,  help 
me,  help  me  !  "  and  the  cry  seemed  to  help  her.  "  And 
I  have  no  God  to  cry  to,"  she  murmured,  "  nor  any  hu- 
man creature  !  "  She  was  tempted  to  blot  out  the  almost 
conviction  that  had  come  to  her,  lighting  up  like  a  storm- 
gleam  the  horrid  possibilities  that  lay  before  her,  making 
the  wild  whirl  of  doubt  and  despair  in  which  she  stood 
seem  wilder.  Her  father  had  not  thought  Christianity 
best  for  her ;  he  had  not  deemed  it  best  to  send  her  to 
her  mother.  Why  act  differently  ?  Why  !  Ah,  who 
better  than  she  knew  why  ?  Who  better  than  she  could 
tell  how  bitterly  the  plan  had  failed  ?  Who  better  than 
she  could  weigh  and  balance  the  chances  of  her  child's 


THE   FELMERES.  265 

happiness  if  lie  should  be  trained  as  she  had  been,  and 
find  them  wanting  ? 

She  rose  hurriedly  from  her  chair ;  she  dashed  her 
hands  in  front  of  her  as  though  to  fling  away  her  thoughts. 

"  I  will  not,  will  not  let  him  go  ! "  she  cried.  "  Let 
the  consequences  be  on  my  head ;  I  can  not  give  him 
up  !  "  She  paused  a  moment  and  listened  as  her  words 
seemed  to'  come  back  to  her  from  all  parts  of  the  great 
room  where  the  evening  shadows  were  gathering.  "  I 
can  not,  I  will  not ! "  she  murmured ;  and,  kneeling  on 
the  hearth-rug  with  the. red  gleams  of  the  firelight  dan- 
cing about  her,  she  made  a  bright  spot  in  the  twilight 
room. 

A  picture  that  would  have  made  a  study  for  an  artist 
— a  sorrow  that  would  have  made  an  angel  weep.  A 
hopeless  human  soul ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  No  one  can  be  more  wise  than  destiny." 

MKS.  YANZANDT'S  "  art  reception  "  promised  to  be  a 
grand  success.  It  was  an  entirely  new  sensation,  and  its 
novelty  was  in  itself  almost  enough  to  insure  a  good 
result.  All  the  pictures  were  to  be  by  native  artists, 
and  after  judgment  had  been  passed  by  a  committee 
selected  for  the  purpose,  a  handsome  prize  was  to  be 
awarded  for  the  best. 

"  Artists  were  always  poor,"  Mrs.  Yanzandt  said, 
"and  her  reception,  besides  bringing  the  pictures  into 
12 


266  THE  FELMERES. 

notice,  would  probably  sell  a  few.  More  than  this,  the 
prize,  besides  being  handsome,  should  be  suited  to  the 
circumstances  and  station  of  the  successful  artist." 

There  were,  of  course,  many  comments  passed  on 
what  was  called  "  Mrs.  Yanzandt's  new  freak." 

"She  does  not  know  what  to  do  with  her  money,"  said 
amiable  friends,  "  and  it  is  just  as  well  for  her  to  waste 
it  in  this  way  as  any  other." 

"  She  likes  to  be  notorious  and  conspicuous,"  said 
pious  enemies,  "  and  we  ought  to  be  thankful  that  she 
has  taken  a  decent  way."  (Whether  they  were  or  not, 
has  never  been  proved.) 

And  Valeria  Yanzandt,  looking  only  to  the  novelty 
of  the  thing,  with  the  hope  of  helping  some  poor  artist 
as  the  excuse  for  her  lavish  expenditure,  enjoyed  without 
heeding  the  criticisms. 

Philip  and  his  mother  had  both  decided  to  go,  mak- 
ing Helen  suspect  that  they  went  for  the  purpose  of 
watching  her ;  then,  thinking  the  term  watching  too 
strong,  she  softened  it  into  curiosity  to  see  her  pictures. 
But  whatever  the  real  motive  was,  they  announced  their 
intention  and  carried  it  out. 

When  they  arrived,  the  house  was  crowded  ;  and  a 
long  line  of  carriages  stretching  down  the  street  told  of 
the  wealth,  at  least,  of  the  company  assembled. 

The  rooms  were  exquisitely  arranged,  and  the  hang- 
ing of  the  pictures  and  the  falling  of  the  light  were  ar- 
tistic in  the  extreme.  Added  to  this,  a  band  of  music, 
hidden  amid  wonderful  flowers  in  a  distant  conservatory, 
made  the  scene  still  more  charming.  The  whole  was  so 
charming,  indeed,  that  all  the  fashionable  world  pro- 
nounced it  a  "  wonderful  success." 


THE  FELMERES.  267 

"  How  lovely ! "  Helen  said  to  Arthur,  with  whom 
she  was  walking ;  "  what  a  success  Valeria  makes  of 
everything ! " 

"  Everything  except  her  own  life,"  Arthur  answered, 
as  he  watched  their  brilliant  hostess  moving  back  and 
forth  from  picture  to  picture  and  group  to  group,  criti- 
cising, chatting,  laughing,  and  making  all  seem  brighter 
for  her  presence.  Arthur  watched  her  until  she  had 
passed  out  of  sight  into  another  room,  then  turned  and 
led  his  companion  up  to  a  gilt  easel  on  which  a  water- 
color  sketch  was  most  conspicuously  placed. 

"  Mrs.  Philip  Felmere,"  he  read  slowly  as  he  turned 
over  the  card  attached.  "  Did  you  really  do  this,  Hel- 
en ? "  he  went  on. 

"  Yes,  I  did  it  years  ago,  and  dressed  it  up  last  sum- 
mer ;  it  is  '  Felmere.' " 

Arthur  scanned  the  picture  closely,  and  the  thought  of 
how  dreary  it  was  saddened  his  kind  face ;  that,  lonely 
and  dreary  as  it  was,  it  was  the  only  home  this  young 
creature  at  his  side  had  ever  known ;  that  there  she  had 
grown  up,  a  solitary  young  heart  without  a  gleam  of  joy 
or  hope  to  lighten  her  life,  and  with  only  an  old  man  for 
her  companion ! 

"  How  sad  it  looks  !  "  he  said  at  last. 

"It  is  glorified  to  me  now,"  she  answered  slowly. 
"  Time  was  when  I  thought  it  dreary  enough,  and  longed 
to  get  away ;  but  now —  She  ceased  suddenly,  and 
Arthur,  looking  up,  saw  Philip  and  his  mother  approach- 
ing them.  They  also  paused  before  the  picture,  and 
Mrs.  Felmere,  as  Arthur  had  done,  read  the  card. 

"  It  is  *  Felmere  Hall,'  "  Helen  explained.  Then 
Mrs.  Felmere  looked  more  closely. 


268  THE  FELMERES. 

"How  dreadfully  lonely,"  was  her  first  comment, 
"  and  so  near  the  graveyard  !  I  wonder,  Helen,  that  you 
did  not  die  of  the  blues  long  ago;  and  I  can  not  see 
what  charm  held  your  father  there." 

It  was  almost  too  much  for  Helen's  patience  to  hear 
Mrs.  Felmere  speaking  in  her  false,  oily  tones,  and  so  dis- 
paragingly, of  this,  to  her,  sacred  place  ;  but  she  did  not 
fail  herself,  and  only  answered  longingly  : 

"  It  was  home,  and  we  had  each  other.  More  than 
this,  neither  of  us  was  without  happiness.  Ah,  I  would 
give  a  great  deal  to  go  back — all,  and  ten  times  more 
than  I  possess,  or  ever  shall !  "  Her  tone  had  become 
very  bitter  toward  the  end  of  her  speech.  'Not  that  she 
had  intended  it  so  to  be ;  but  her  life  was  so  fast  becom- 
ing desperate,  that  she  could  not  always  keep  down  her 
despair.  Fortunately,  no  one  was  near  enough  to  hear 
either  her  speech  or  Philip's  sullen  answer  : 

"  You  can  go,  and  could  have  gone  long  ago  had  you 
expressed  your  wish  on  the  subject." 

Her  face  grew  crimson  for  an  instant ;  then  the  pal- 
lor almost  of  death  crept  over  it  down  even  to  the 
parted  lips.  What  had  she  done?  "Would  he  send 
her  away  without  her  child  ?  These  thoughts  swept  over 
her,  and  she  spoke  slowly,  as  though  with  much  diffi- 
culty : 

"  Thank  you,  Philip  ;  I  should  like  very  much  to  go 
in  the  spring." 

Philip  stared  at  her  a  moment  almost  rudely,  and, 
turning  away  without  waiting  for  Helen  to  finish  her 
speech,  walked  off  with  his  mother,  leaving  Arthur  pale 
with  rage.  Under  his  stare  Helen's  expression  changed 
from  almost  pleading  to  a  look  of  utter  contempt ;  she 


THE  FELMERES.  269 

could  not  help  it,  and  the  little  pity  that  she  felt  for  him 
only  crept  into  her  face  when  he  turned  away. 

After  this,  she  and  Arthur  walked  about  examining 
pictures,  but  without  much  spirit  in  their  talk  or  com- 
ments, and  were  much  relieved  when  Mrs.  Vanzandt 
came  up  to  them  followed  by  the  committee  of  selection. 

"  We  have  come,  Helen,  to  take  you  in  to  see  the 
picture  that  has  gained  the  prize." 

And  Helen,  wondering,  followed  her  down  the  long 
hall  to  a  small  room  at  the  end — the  same  room  where 
on  a  former  occasion  the  picture  of  "  Guinevere "  had 
hung.  The  daylight  had  been  excluded,  and  an  artificial 
light  so  arranged  as  to  throw  into  wonderful  relief  the 
picture  of  the  hour.  As  the  party  approached,  the  crowd 
made  way  for  them,  and  Helen  found  herself  face  to  face 
with  her  picture  of  "  Sir  Galahad."  Under  it  were  these 
words  printed : 

"  And  there  was  one  among  us,  ever  moved 
Among  us  in  white  armor,  Galahad." 

She  stood  quite  still  and  looked  up  at  the  idealized 
face.  It  was  so  long  since  she  had  seen  it  that  she  had 
forgotten  how  beautiful  it  had  been  to  her ;  but  now  it 
came  to  her  like  a  new  wonder ;  it  shone  down  on  her 
like  a  star  from  out  the  crimson  draperies.  Ah,  what  a 
glad,  pure  look  there  was  on  the  lifted,  half-turned  face ! 
and  the  light  that  touched  it  was  glorious — no  doubt  of 
that.  Her  "  bright  boy  knight " — how  glad  she  was  to 
greet  him  once  more ! 

She  forgot  the -crowd,  forgot  her  present  life  and 
misery,  and  stood  thinking  over  the  same  thoughts  that 
had  been  in  her  mind  when  she  painted  the  picture. 


270  THE   FELMERES. 

She  almost  felt  that  if  she  turned  her  head  she  would 
be  looking  through  the  old  studio  window  across  the 
Felmere  churchyard,  and  would  see  Felix  coming  with 
his  knapsack  on  his  shoulders ! 

"  Do  you  know,  madam,  that  your  '  Sir  Galahad ' 
has  won  the  prize  ?  "  It  was  the  chief  of  the  committee 
of  judges  who  spoke,  and  his  voice  sounded  clear  above 
the  hum  of  talk  about  her. 

Helen  started,  and  looked  up  at  him,  wondering  that 
he  did  not  see  the  likeness  and  call  it  by  its  rightful 
name.  Then  a  little  shiver  ran  over  her.  Suppose  he 
had  done  so,  how  dreadful  it  would  have  been  !  It  was 
fortunate  she  had  scribbled  that  quotation  on  the  back 
of  it ;  and  how  in  the  world  had  Valeria  found  it  ? 

"  You  look  so  dazed,"  Mrs.  Yanzandt  broke  in,  "  and 
you  do  not  say  anything.  Are  you  not  pleased  to  have 
your  genius  found  out  ?  for  every  one  says  there  is  de- 
cided genius  in  that  piece.'' 

"  How  did  you  get  it  ?  "  Helen  asked  irrelevantly. 

"  Get  it !  "  Mrs.  Yanzandt  answered ;  "  you  may  well 
ask.  TVhy,  I  found  it  in  a  dark  corner  of  your  studio, 
with  its  face  to  the  wall,  absolutely  hidden  in  the  most 
careful  manner ! " 

Helen  looked  up  at  the  picture  sadly.  Yes,  she  had 
hidden  it  even  from  herself  since  her  marriage ;  and 
now  that  she  met  it  in  the  full  glare  of  all  the  world,  it 
seemed  like  laying  her  heart  bare  to  be  criticised  by  any 
passer-by. 

"  I  did  hide  it,"  she  answered  absently. 

"  And  that  is  what  I  can  not  understand,"  Mrs.  Yan- 
zandt went  on — "  that  you  should  hide  the  very  best 
thing  you  ever  did.  Why,  my  dear,  it  has  taken  the 


THE   FELMERES.  271 

prize  over  one  of  Gordon's  pictures ;  think  of  that ! " 
The  hot  blood  dashed  into  Helen's  cheeks,  and  Arthur 
felt  the  hand  on  his  arm  give  a  little  nervous  twitch. 
"  And  by  the  way,"  Mrs.  Vanzandt  went  on,  "  if  you  had 
ever  known  Felix  Gordon,  I  should  say  you  had  put 
somewhat  of  him  in  your  picture."  Arthur  felt  the  hold 
on  his  arm  tighten  ;  he  saw  his  companion  raise  her  eyes, 
and  watched  while  the  color  faded  from  the  calm  face ; 
but  she  did  not  turn  her  eyes  from  the  point  where  she 
had  first  fastened  them  as  she  answered  Mrs.  Yanzandt : 

"  Yes,  I  feel  it  a  great  honor  to  be  thought  to  have 
excelled  Mr.  Gordon,  and  shall  value  my  prize  very 
highly."  Then  she  looked  away,  and  Arthur,  turning  his 
eyes  to  where  she  had  been  looking,  found  Philip's  eager, 
pale  face  watching  her  intensely. 

Afterward  one  or  two  persons  standing  near  took  up 
the  freshly  dropped  idea,  and  said  the  picture  was  some- 
what like  Mr.  Gordon  ;  in  fact,  he  must  have  looked  much 
like  it  in  his  youth.  1 

Then  Helen  turned  and  drew  Arthur  with  her  from 
the  room. 

"  It  is  very  close,"  she  said  faintly,  "  and  I  should 
like  a  glass  of  wine." 

Arthur  instantly  obeyed  her  move,  and,  taking  her 
into  the  refreshment  room,  suggested  calling  the  carriage. 
She  paused  thoughtfully  for  a  moment  before  she  an- 
swered, as  though  considering  the  proposal ;  then  re- 
fused, on  the  plea  that  she  was  quite  well  again.  But 
the  time  after  that  dragged  heavily  to  her,  and  Arthur, 
watching  her,  saw  the  effort  she  made,  and  felt  a  sincere 
pity  for  her. 

Fortunately,  it  was  not  long  before  the  company  were 


272  THE  FELMERES. 

collected  together  for  the  presentation  of  the  prize,  which 
was  to  be  the  conclusion  of  the  entertainment.  The 
spokesman  of  the  committee  made  a  little  speech,  full  of 
well-worn  compliments,  and,  ending  abruptly  and  unex- 
pectedly at  the  apex  of  his  eloquence,  left  his  audience 
in  a  state  of  stupid  surprise. 

There  was  a  painful  pause  of  a  few  moments'  dura- 
tion, while  the  company  looked  expectantly  at  Philip, 
who,  standing  stolidly  angry,  made  no  movement  to  re- 
ply. It  was  only  for  an  instant;  then  Arthur  stepped 
quickly  from  Helen's  side,  and,  receiving  the  prize  for 
her,  said  such  pleasant  words  of  thanks  that  people  al- 
most forgot  their  surprise  at  Philip's  silence. 

"  It  must  have  been  arranged  between  them,"  the 
world  said ;  "  yet  it  was  strange  Mr.  Felmere  had  not 
taken  Arthur's  place — unaccountably  strange  !  " 

Helen  was  quiet  under  it  all.  No  one  could  see  the 
slightest  change  of  expression  when  Arthur  took  Philip's 
place  and  did  Philip's  duty;  no  one  could  discover  so 
much  as  a  quiver  of  her  eyelids  when  Mrs.  Beaumont 
told  Mrs.  Yanzandt,  in  her  hearing,  that  Mrs.  Philip 
Felmere  and  Mr.  Gordon  were  old  and  intimate  friends, 
and  that  there  might  be  some  look  of  him  in  the  pic- 
ture ;  nor  was  there  any  more  show  of  expression  when 
Mrs.  Yanzandt,  with  a  flash  of  her  black  eyes,  answered 
glibly  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  : 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  just  heard  all  about  it.  They  were 
brought  up  together ;  he  was  an  adopted  brother,  or  uncle, 
or  something  very  near.  Mr.  Jourdan  has  just  told  me." 
And  Arthur  bowed  very  low  to  hide  the  smile  he  could 
not  repress ;  it  was  such  a  quick,  clever  little  story,  and 
the  motive  behind  it  was  so  generous,  he  would  have 


THE  FELMERES.  273 

liked  to  thank  her.  Then  she  swept  Mrs.  Beaumont  off 
into  a  crowd  where  this  last  item  could  be  repeated  to  ad- 
vantage. 

But  no  one  could  have  told  that  Helen  heard  it,  and 
her  only  feeling  about  it  was  that  Valeria  was  telling  a 
story  to  shield  a  person  who  was  fated.  Everything  mili- 
tated against  her  ;  there  was  no  use  in  struggling,  nothing 
was  left  for  her  but  endurance !  So  she  chatted  and 
smiled  with  those  about  her,  receiving  their  congratula- 
tions and  thanking  them  for  their  kind  compliments,  and 
all  the  while  wondering  what  would  come  of  this  day's 
work. 

Arthur,  meanwhile,  waited  deliberately,  and  without 
invitation,  for  the  Felmere  carriage,  in  order  that  he  might 
ride  home  with  Helen,  and,  if  possible,  prevent  any  dis- 
cussion of  the  events  of  the  morning  until  he  had  had 
some  private  conversation  with  his  sister  and  Philip.  But 
he  need  not  have  feared  ;  for  Philip  kept  utterly  silent, 
spending  his  time  looking  out  of  the  carriage  window ; 
while  Mrs.  Felmere  made  only  a  few  general  remarks 
about  the  entertainment  they  had  just  left.  On  their  ar- 
rival at  home  the  party  separated,  and  Arthur,  seeing  the 
time  was  not  propitious  for  his  talk,  did  not  stay. 

The  whole  evening  Philip  spent  alone  in  the  library, 
sitting  for  hours  in  one  position,  brooding  over  and  nurs- 
ing his  resentment.  Helen  loved  Felix  Gordon ;  for  him 
her  face  would  soften  and  her  beautiful  eyes  grow  glad  ; 
he  had  seen  it !  He  clinched  his  hands.  For  him  she 
watched  and  waited  with  ever  a  longing  in  her  heart ; 
for  his  praise  she  cultivated  her  talents  and  worked  so 
diligently  at  her  art ;  and  in  her  dreams  it  was  his  face 
she  idealized,  putting  a  glory  and  a  beauty  about  it  that 


274  THE  FELMERES. 

only  the  light  of  heaven  could  cast !  Could  he  be  ex- 
pected to  love  and  protect  and  cherish  her,  knowing  all 
this  ?  Who  could  measure  the  wrath  and  agony  he  had 
suffered  that  day,  as  he  watched  her  receive  the  prize  for 
that  glorified  face — glorified  as  only  love  could  have  con- 
ceived it  ? 

"  Great  God !  "  he  muttered,  almost  wringing  his 
hands ;  "  and  if  I  ask  her  she  will  say,  '  Yes,  it  is  Mr. 
Gordon's  face ;  I  did  it  years  ago ;  but  its  exhibition  was 
a  mistake — I  am  sorry.'  Of  course  she  is  sorry  !  "  Then 
he  put  his  face  in  his  hands ;  he  could  almost  hear  her 
voice  saying  the  words  Ije  had  muttered  :  a  sweet  clear 
voice  it  was,  but  always  cold  to  him.  Ah,  he  had  made 
a  bitter  mistake  in  marrying  her,  but  then  he  had  hoped 
for  so  much ! 

So  he  sat  until  the  night  closed  about  him,  then  he 
rang  for  a  servant,  and  without  any  message  or  note  sent 
the  gilt  easel  and  the  picture  of  "King  Arthur  "  up  to  his 
wife.  And  Helen,  discussing  with  her  maid  what  she 
should  wear  at  the  ball  that  night,  laid  down  the  spray  of 
jewels  she  held,  and  quietly  superintended  the  placing  of 
the  picture.  She  knew  it  meant  a  great  deal,  but  she 
had  reached  that  point  where  hopelessness  merges  into 
calm.  Nothing  but  the  actual  mandate  to  go  could  touch 
her  now. 

At  the  ball  that  night,  no  one — not  even  Arthur,  with 
whom  she  went — could  have  told  but  that  her  life  was 
one  even  flow  of  prosperity.  Yes,  she  was  very  calm : 
no  one  but  the  little  nurse,  watching  for  her  returns  from 
balls  and  parties,  listening  through  the  dusks  and  dawns 
of  many  days,  knew  of  the  despair  that  held  her,  of  the 
hopelessness  that  possessed  her!  And  often  the  little 


THE  FELMERES.  275 

maid  would  tell  her  mistress  of  a  kind  gentleman,  a  cler- 
gyman, who  lived  among  the  poor  and  helped  them: 
would  not  her  mistress  ask  his  advice  ? 

But  Helen  only  turned  away,  saying,  "  Child,  this  is 
a  trouble  that  only  death  can  comfort !  " 

And  so  the  days  sped  by ;  and  Philip  told  her  no- 
thing except  that  in  the  latter  part  of  spring  he  was  going 
abroad,  and  that  if  she  wished  she  might  go  back  to  Fel- 
mere.  He  did  not  mention  the  child,  and  she  would  not 
ask  any  questions. 


CHAPTEK  IY. 

"  O  for  comfort,  O  the  waste  of  a  long  doubt  and  trouble !  " 

THE  house  was  still ;  the  fires  burned  dull;  the  sky 
was  gray,  and  the  wind  howled  dismally  up  and  down 
the  streets.  Helen  sat  alone ;  for,  being  Sunday,  all  the 
family,  including  baby  and  nurse,  had  gone  to  Miss 
Esther  Jourdan's  house  to  dinner.  Helen,  however,  find- 
ing she  was  not-  welcome,  had  not  been  present  at  these 
reunions  for  some  time.  Now  she  sat  by  herself,  lis- 
tening to  the  wind,  and  thinking  how  many  days  she 
could  remember  at  Felmere  when  the  wind  sung  the 
same  song  about  the  dreary  marsh  that  now  sounded  in 
the  busy  city  streets,  and  how  in  its  tones  the  cry  of  the 
weary  sea  would  mingle. 

Ah,  she  did  not  like  to  look  back  ;  she  did  not  like  to 
think  ;  and  she  could  no  longer  stay  in  that  lonely  house  ! 

She  rose  with  nervous  haste,  and,  putting  on  cloak 
and  furs,  and  muffling  her  face  in  a  heavy  veil,  she  went 


276  THE  FELMERES. 

out.  The  wind  was  desperately  high,  and  battled  with 
her  at  every  corner  in  a  way  that  seemed  almost  malig- 
nant. But  she  would  not  turn  back ;  she  rather  enjoyed  the 
struggle  ;  it  made  her  forget  her  misery  for  a  little  while, 
and  almost  cured  her  home-sickness  and  restlessness. 
She  turned  from  the  usual  course  of  her  walks  and  drives, 
and  in  a  very  short  time  found  herself  among  unknown 
scenes.  The  houses  were  poor  and  shabby,  and  the  few 
people  she  met  looked  common  and  tawdry  ;  but  this 
pleased  her,  for  she  wished  to.  be  where  there  was  no 
danger  of  meeting  any  one  she  knew. 

At  last  she  reached  a  dreary  little  park,  grown  over 
with  grass  that  looked  gray  from  age,  with  here  and 
there  a  few  stunted  trees  and  impotent-looking  benches, 
dingy  with  over-much  rain  and  sun,  and  scarred  by  many 
idle  knives.  The  safest-looking  of  these  benches  stood 
under,  or  rather  leaned  against,  a  tree  so  black  and  bare 
as  to  make  one  almost  doubt  the  resurrecting  power  of 
spring ;  that  tree  could  surely  never  again  bring  forth 
summer  foliage  !  Helen  gave  the  bench  a  precautionary 
shake,  and,  finding  it  tolerably  firm,  sat  down,  thinking 
to  rest  for  a  little  while ;  but  the  wind  seemed  to  be  of 
a  different  mind,  and  attacked  her  on  every  side.  It 
would  not  let  her  alone,  and  finally  there  came  with  it  a 
fine,  penetrating  rain,  that  made  her  scan  the  buildings 
about  her  for  some  sheltering  door-step  or  porch,  where 
she  could  stand  for  a  while  before  turning  her  steps 
homeward.  After  some  moments'  scrutiny,  she  descried 
a  narrow,  dingy  church,  standing  rather  back  among  the 
high  rusty  rows  of  houses.  She  went  nearer,  and,  hear- 
ing a  strain  of  music  floating  out  on  the  wild  winds,  de- 
termined to  seek  shelter  there.  "  It  is  such  a  poor  and 


THE  FELMERES.  277 

mean-looking  church,  I  dare  say  it  is  frge,"  she  said  to 
herself,  as,  fighting  hard  against  the  wind  and  rain,  she 
crossed  the  dingy  square  and  muddy  street. 

Reaching  the  church,  she  paused  to  look  for  some  re- 
tired side  door  that  would  let  her  in  without  attracting 

O 

notice,  or  that  would  perhaps  protect  her  sufficiently 
without  the  necessity  of  an  actual  entrance.  It  took  her 
some  moments ;  but  at  last  she  discovered  the  desired 
place — a  side  porch  built  in  a  little  crevice  between  the 
church  and  one  of  the  crowding  houses  that  seemed  to 
lean  in  on  every  side.  She  was  not  long  in  making  her 
way  to  this  newly  discovered  haven,  flattering  herself 
that  she  had  found  sufficient  protection,  But  only  for  a 
moment  was  she  unmolested ;  then  the  wind  and  rain, 
driving  round  the  corner,  crowded  her  back  against  the 
wall,  and  dashed  the  cold  drops  in  her  face.  She  could 
not  stand  this,  and,  waiting  a  second  until  she  heard  the 
music  recommence,  she  opened  the  door  and  stepped  in. 
In  a  moment  she  was  at  rest,  finding  herself  in  a  dim 
dark  corner,  quiet  and  calm,  where  she  could  hear  the 
tempest  but  not  feel  it.  She  could  see  all  the  tired  hu- 
man faces  congregated  there,  but  could  not  well  be  seen. 

The  church  was  long  and  dim,  with  a  dark  arched 
roof  and  high  narrow  windows.  The  floor  was  paved, 
and  the  benches,  crowded  close  together,  were  of  com- 
mon deal.  There  were  no  soft  hassocks,  no  cushions,  no 
carpets — nothing  that  could  at  all  remind  her  of  the 
light,  fashionable  temple  where  her  family  worshiped. 
All  save  the  altar  looked  common  and  unlovely;  but 
there  soft  lights  were  burning,  and  fair  fresh  flowers  gave 
forth  their  fragrance. 

Once  catching  sight  of  the  altar,  her  looks  were  fas- 


278  THE  FELMERES. 

tened ;  for  a  strange  feeling  began  to  steal  over  her, 
taking  her  back  to  the  days  when  as  a  child  at  Felmere 
she  had  crept  inside  the  church  door ;  and  a  mysterious 
reverence  and  awe,  that  did  not  at  all  seem  the  outcome 
of  reason,  made  her,  now  as  then,  wish  to  kneel.  Alas  ! 
she  was  no  longer  the  ignorant  child  of  those  days,  and 
bitterly  she  felt  the  change  !  She  could  now  realize  and 
see  the  awful  gulf  of  doubt  and  risk  that  yawned  between 
her  and  that  altar ;  she  knew  it  would  be  but  a  mockery 
in  her,  and  a  desertion  of  her  father  ! 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  the  sounds  of  prayers  and 
chants  passed,  leaving  her  without  any  distinct  conscious- 
ness of  their  meaning,  and  with  only  a  feeling  that  they 
were  one  long  sigh  and  longing  going  up  from  all  those 
weary  souls ! 

Suddenly,  distinct  words  fell  on  her  ears  : 

"  Art  thou  weary,  art  thou  languid, 
Art  thou  sore  distressed  ?  " 

She  raised  her  head :  she  was  all  that ;  could  these 
people  give  her  any  comfort  ? 
Softly  the  answer  fell : 

"  '  Come  to  me,'  saith  one,  '  and,  coming, 
Be  at  rest.' " 

She  listened  eagerly,  greedily,  longingly,  and  the  sound 
seemed  to  float  away  from  her  utterly  and  entirely.  She 
was  cut  off ;  she  had  no  part  in  that  rest ;  that  call  had 
no  meaning  for  her  ! 

All  those  hard-worked  servant-girls  and  day-laborers 
could  listen  and  find  comfort — could  sing  with  all  their 


THE   FELMERES.  279 

heart  and  strength — could  believe,  and  in  believing  rest ! 
She  could  not. 

She  covered  her  face  again.  She  envied  the  lowest 
there,  and  would  have  given  all  she  possessed  for  the 
simple  faith  and  ignorance  of  any  one  of  them. 

"  '  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest ! ' ' 

The  voice  rang  out  above  her  bent  head,  clear,  musi- 
cal, soft — sounding  down  the  dim  length  of  the  church 
that  was  fast  fading  into  obscurity,  losing  itself  deep  in 
many  human  hearts. 

"  O  ye  who  are  weary  with  the  burden  and  heat  of 
the  day,  laden  with  sin  and  sorrow ;  weary  with  toil  and 
care,  laden  with  regrets  and  remorse ;  blinded  with  the 
dust  of  many  troubles,  thirsty  with  the  drought  of  many 
wants,  who,  reaching  groping  hands  from  out  the  clouds 
of  doubt,  fall  prone  without  a  voice  to  cry  : 

"  '  Come  to  me,'  saith  one,  '  and,  coming, 
Be  at  rest ! ' 

Are  there  any  here  among  you  who  can  say, '  I  have  none 
of  these ' ;  any  who  ban  say,  *  I  have  no  need  of  rest ' ; 
any  save,  perhaps,  some  little  child  still  standing  poised 
on  the  brink  of  life,  watching  with  wonder  the  toilers 
after  this  world's  rewards,  the  mourners  over  this  world's 
disappointments — some  fair,  pure  soul  that  still  looks 
beyond  the  dust  and  pain  of  mortal  warfare,  that  still 
can  fix  its  eyes  on  yon  far  Paradise,  forgetting  its  roots 
are  in  clay  ?  To  such  I  do  not  speak.  I  only  ask  them 
to  come  and  stand  beside  me,  that,  looking  down  into  the 
depths  of  their  far-reaching  faith,  my  own  faint  spark 
may  be  fresh  kindled !  It  is  not  to  the  pure  and  stain- 


280  THE  FELMERES. 

less  I  come,  but  to  those  who  like  myself  are  '  weary 
and  heavy  laden ' ;  those  who  search  longingly  after  some 
shadow  wherein  to  rest.  My  beloved,  for  all  who  believe 
and  trust,  there  is  such  rest.  Sometimes  it  touches  us 
even  here  among  the  drifting  sand-heaps  of  this  present 
life  ;  and  I  know  it  waits  for  us  yonder,  beyond  the  grave, 
beyond  the  mystery  of  death  and  the  dread  of  hell ! 
'  Only  believe  ! '  Believe  that  Christ  died  for  you  ;  that 
his  blood  can  save  you ;  that  he  stands  waiting  lovingly 
for  your  halting  steps,  ready  to  forgive  and  blot  out  the 
broken  promises  that  mark  your  days,  and  listen  patient- 
ly for  the  few  scattered  wandering  cries  for  help  that 
flicker  up  through  all  this  waste  of  years  !  Believe  that 
he  still  waits  and  says  unto  you,  '  Come,  and  I  will  give 
you  rest ! '  Only  believe  ! " 

Helen  did  not  move,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  have 
grown  to  the  pure,  pale  face  in  the  pulpit  above  her — 
almost  a  boy's  face,  with  luminous  dark  eyes  and  a  grand 
broad  brow — the  face  of  the  man  who  had  saved  her  life 
on  the  cliff ! 

She  listened  and  looked  until  the  dusk  hid  all  save 
that  white  face,  shining  through  the  gathering  shadows 
like  the  face  of  one  who  has  seen  God !  And  the  clear 
sweet  tones  rang  on  and  on,  commanding,  comforting, 
pleading  with  them  for  their  own  souls — requiring  of 
them  to  believe  in  Christ.  HowT  the  words  rang  about 
her ;  how  they  sounded  back  and  forth  through  the  empty 
past  and  future  of  her  life ! 

"  Only  believe ! " 

Desert  the  old  man  who  had  trusted  her — the  one 
human  heart  that  in  the  past  had  been  her  own ! 

"  Only  believe !" 


THE   FELMERES.  281 

And  for  ever  keep  her  child  beside  her — the  one  hu- 
man heart  in  all  the  world  that  would  in  the  future  be 
her  own ! 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  To  do  it  would 
be  breaking  her  oath  to  the  dead,  and  bring  remorse 
upon  her.  Not  to  do  it !  Ah,  who  could  measure  what 
her  life  would  be  without  her  child !  She  wrung  her  hands. 

"And  when  life's  short  day  is  past, 
Rest  with  tliee  in  heaven  at  lastl  " 

Slowly  the  words  faded  from  about  her  as  the  choir 
filed  out,  and  the  soft  "Amen "  sounded  miles  away. 

Once  more  from  under  shelter,  battling  against  the 
wind  and  rain,  but  now  heedless  of  them  !  ISTor  did  she 
again  pity  the  dwellers  in  those  common  houses,  the  fre- 
quenters of  the  dingy  square;  for  down  this  narrow 
back  street  she  had  found  the  Christians  her  father  had 
described  to  her.  Among  the  common  work-people,  in 
a  dark,  unlovely,  free  church,  she  had  found  herself  face 
to  face  with  the  foes  she  had  longed  yet  dreaded  to  meet 
— the  foes,  the  beauty  of  whose  lives  and  religion  had  so 
strong  a  fascination  for  her. 

This  priest  was  different  from  the  Christians  she  had 
lived  among.  He  really  and  realizingly  believed,  and 
there  was  that  in  his  face  that  made  her  know  he  lived 
up  to  his  faith.  Had  he  found  peace  and  rest  ?  she  won- 
dered. Had  that  almost  boyish  face  grown  pale  and  har- 
assed, and  those  shining  eyes  grown  troubled,  through 
his  anxiety  for  the  souls  of  others,  or  for  his  own  ?  She 
wondered  still  further  whether  he  had  ever  doubted,  and 
thought  she  would  like  to  know  him  and  talk  to  him — 
should  like  to  plead  for  counsel  in  her  dire  distress. 


282  THE  FELMERES. 

She  did  not  heed  the  wind  and  rain  nor  the  lateness 
of  the  hour.  She  plodded  on  through  mud  and  slop, 
across  crowded  streets,  around  slippery  corners,  scarcely 
knowing  when  she  reached  her  own  door,  or  realizing 
that  she  was  weary,  wet,  and  cold.  She  did  not  even 
note  James's  astonishment,  nor  his  gratuitous  informa- 
tion, as  he  took  her  wet  wraps,  that  "  Master  Philip  and 
the  baby  had  come,  but  that  the  carriage  was  to  be  sent 
back  for  Mrs.  Felmere."  She  did  not  see  Philip,  who 
had  stopped  in  his  walk  up  and  down  the  long  parlors  to 
observe  her  late  arrival  and  wet  condition.  She  only 
thanked  James  for  his  services,  and  went  hastily  up  stairs. 
She  wanted  her  child ;  she  wanted  to  lay  fresh  hold  on 
her  promise  to  her  father ;  she  wanted  to  turn  away  from 
this  temptation  to  forsake  her  father  and  leave  the  ways 
of  her  youth !  She  did  not  heed  or  stay  her  quick  steps 
until  she  knelt  on  the  hearth-rug  where  the  child  was 
playing,  and  felt  his  touch  upon  her  face ;  then  she  paused 
and  thought. 

"  Believe  in  Christ,"  and  she  would  for  ever  have  him 
for  her  own !  Ah,  the  depth  and  far-reaching  strength 
of  those  words — "  her  own,"  "  for  ever  "  !  And  the  little 
arms  about  her  neck  were  dreadful  powers  dragging  her 
from  the  old  paths ! 

"  O  father,  father !  "  she  almost  sobbed,  as  she  crushed 
the  child  nearer  to  her,  "  I  will  be  true ! "  Then  the 
clasp  relaxed,  and  the  little  maid,  watching,  felt  the  tears 
rise  to  her  eyes.  She  did  not  understand  it  all,  but  this 
much  she  knew :  her  mistress  was  in  some  deep  distress, 
and  her  mistress  had  no  religion  !  And  all  the  tender- 
ness of  her  kind,  young  nature  went  out  in  sympathy  for 


THE  FELMERES.  283 

the  misfortunes  of  her  fellow  woman,  who  was  also 
young,  and  oh,  how  beautiful ! 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  the  mistress  asked  at  last — "  what  is 
it  that  troubles  you,  Annie  ? " 

"  Only  you  look  so  sorrowful,  ma'am." 

"  I  feel  sorrowful,  child." 

"  I  know  it,  ma'am ;  and  oh,  Mrs.  Felmere,  if  you 
would  only  go  just  once  to  my  church !  " 

"  Would  I  come  away  happy,  do  you  think,  Annie  ?  " 

"  P'r'aps  not  altogether  happy,  ma'am,  but  more 
peaceful  like,"  the  girl  answered  thoughtfully. 

"  I  did  go  to  church  this  afternoon,"  the  mistress  an- 
swered slowly,  as  she  rocked  the  child  back  and  forth  in 
her  arms — "  a  free  church  on  a  back  street,  where  the 
singing  was  beautiful,  and  a  good  man  preached ;  I  know 
he  was  good." 

"  Were  he  a  small  man,  ma'am,  and  did  his  eyes 
shine  ? "  the  girl  asked  eagerly. 

"  Yes."  Then  Helen  gave  the  street  and  square,  and 
it  proved  to  be  Annie's  "  own  "  church. 

"And  didn't  he  give  you  peace,  ma'am?"  the  girl 
went  on  gravely. 

The  mistress  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  he  did  not  give  me  peace,  for  no  one  can  give 
me  that — nothing  can  rest  me  but  the  grave.  But  he 
showed  me  he  was  a  good,  true  man,  one  to  whom  I  can 
go  and  tell  my  troubles  ;  and  I  shall  go." 

"  Now  I  know  you  will  be  happier,  ma'am ;  for  Mr. 
Heath  will  do  all  he  can  to  help  you ;  he  will  show  you 
the  right  way  if  any  one  can." 

"  Our  ways  are  very  far  apart,  child,"  the  mistress 
said  ;  "  but  I  shall  go  to  him  and  hear  what  he  says." 


284  THE   FELMERES. 

Then  a  silence  fell  between  them,  and  the  red  fire- 
light danced  merrily  on  their  sad  faces,  and  on  the  peace- 
ful sleeping  of  the  child  lying  still  in  its  mother's  arms ; 
while,  in  the  long  dim  rooms  below,  the  master  and  fa- 
ther paced  nervously  to  and  fro,  angry,  wondering,  and 
suspicious. 

Why  had  Helen  stayed  at  home  from  dinner  ?  Where 
had  she  been  ?  Had  she  come  home  alone  at  that  late 
hour  ?  And  what  had  troubled  her  so  much  as  to  prevent 
her  from  even  looking  in  his  direction  when  she  passed  ? 
None  of  these  questions  could  be  answered  except  by 
asking,  and  he  could  not  ask.  Up  and  down,  up  and 
down  he  walked,  cursing  his  fate,  cursing  himself  for  be- 
ing so  miserable  and  jealous,  and  tormenting  himself  with 
plans  he  could  not  possibly  carry  out. 

In  the  midst  of  his  self-torture  his  mother  came  in. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  asked  hurriedly. 

Then  Philip,  as  though  it  were  a  relief  to  talk  to 
some  one,  told  her  all:  that  Helen  was  out  when  he 
arrived,  and  had  not  come  in  until  after  lamp-light ;  that 
she  had  appeared  wet  and  draggled,  and  had  gone  im- 
mediately up  stairs  without  saying  a  word  to  any  one. 

"  Did  she  see  you  when  she  came  in  ? "  Mrs.  Felmere 
asked  gravely. ' 

"  I  do  not  think  she  did,"  Philip  answered ;  "  she 
seemed  very  much  preoccupied  and  hurried,  and  did  not 
so  much  as  look  in  this  direction." 

"  She  did  not  wish  to,"  Mrs.  Felmere  said  musingly ; 
"  and  her  behavior  of  late  has  been  most  peculiar.  I  have 
been  observing  her  closely." 

Philip  turned  away  impatiently. 

"  You  need  not  watch  her,"  he  answered  gloomily ; 


THE  FELMERES.  285 

"  you  have  only  to  ask  her  point-blank  questions,  and  she 
will  answer  you  without  hesitation." 

Mrs.  Felmere  shook  her  head. 

"  You  are  deluded,  my  son." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  so ! "  Philip  answered  sharply,  as 
he  turned  to  face  her.  "In  all  my  intercourse  with 
Helen,  I  have  never  known  her  to  deviate  one  hair's 
breadth  from  the  truth.  The  difficulty  does  not  lie 
there,"  he  went  on  more  quietly,  "  but  in  the  miser- 
able fact  that  she  does  not  admit  that  there  is  any  law 
that  can  be  binding  on  her,  unless  she  chooses  to  be 
bound." 

A  keener  look  came  on  Mrs.  Felmere's  face  as  he  fin- 
ished speaking. 

"  Will  she  always  keep  a  promise  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  she  looks  on  that,"  he  answered 
— "  whether  she  would  consider  a  promise  to  mean  for 
ever,  or  only  until  she  gave  you  warning  of  her  intention 
to  break  it." 

"  Why  do  you  not  solve  the  question,  then,  and  ask 
her  first  where  she  has  been,  and  second  how  she  regards 
a  promise  ? " 

They  looked  at  each  other  a  moment  in  silence  ;  then 
Philip  turned  away. 

"  I  would  rather  remain  in  doubt  for  all  my  life,"  he 
answered  sullenly,  "  than  ask  her  those  questions.  No ; 
I  will  solve  the  difficulty  by  going  away  in  April." 

"And  your  child,  my  son?"  Mrs.  Felmere's  face 
was  really  sad  as  she  looked  up,  and  as  she  went  on  there 
was  real  solemnity  in  her  tone :  "  Do  you  think  you 
should  go  and  leave  your  only  son,  and  the  last  of  your 
name,  to  grow  up  as  he  may  ?  Do  you  think  you  will 


286  THE  FELMERES. 

be  doing  your  duty  in  leaving  Mm  to  be  reared  in  utter 
atheism,  so  risking  his  eternal  welfare  ? " 

Philip  stood  silent  a  moment. 

"  Then,  mother,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

Mrs.  Felmere  did  not  answer  immediately.  The  plan 
she  had  for  proposal  was  one  that  had  long  since  matured 
in  her  own  mind,  and  one  she  really  thought  was  right ; 
but  she  hesitated  as  to  the  first  mention  of  it. 

"  Helen  wishes  to  go  back  to  Felmere  in  the  spring  ? " 
she  said  inquiringly. 

"Yes." 

"  You  have  told  her  she  could  go  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  The  place  is  low  and  marshy  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  And  therefore  not  healthy  for  the  child  ? " 

Philip  looked  up  quickly,  as  though  intending  to 
speak  ;  but  Mrs.  Felmere  raised  her  hand  for  silence. 

"  I  will  take  the  child  and  go  with  you  to  Europe ! " 
Her  words  fell  quick  and  sharp,  and  she  watched  closely 
for  their  effect. 

Philip  stood  still  for  one  moment,  looking  at  her  in 
mute  surprise,  then  turned  and  walked  away  thought- 
fully. 

"  It  would  be  too  cruel,"  he  said  at  last,  standing  be- 
fore his  mother. 

"  Cruel  to  save  your  child's  soul  ? "  she  asked. 

"  We  could  educate  him  as  a  Christian  without  taking 

O 

him  away  from  her,"  he  argued. 

Mrs.  Felmere  shook  her  head. 

"  Is  it  more  cruel  to  separate  them  now,"  she  asked, 
"  or  to  let  them  live  together  and  learn  to  love  each  other 


THE   FELMERES.  287 

more  and  more,  and  then,  teaching  him  the  fearful  error 
of  his  mother,  sow  grief  and  dissension  between  them  ? 
For,  even  if  you  leave  them,  they  will  be  separated  if  he 
is  trained  a  Christian.  Her  own  unbelief  sets  a  gulf 
between  them,  and  the  day  he  is  baptized  they  will  be  as 
far  apart  as  heaven  and  hell !  " 

Philip  shuddered  and  turned  away,  and  his  mother 
went  on  in  the  same  low  voice  : 

"  Better  never  let  your  son  know  his  mother,  than 
know  her  as  she  is ;  better  for  him  not  to  learn  to  love 
one  he  must  lose  eternally  j  better  have  no  faith  in  Jesus 
Christ  and  his  power  to  save,  than  to  have  faith  under- 
mined and  shaded  by  the  knowledge  that  the  one  he 
loves  best  in  the  world,  and  who  seems  to  embody  all 
goodness  and  purity,  looks  on  such  faith  as  weak  and 
foolish ! " 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  all  this  before,  moth- 
er," Philip  began,  standing  before  her  and  speaking 
slowly — "  long  before  you  sent  me  to  Felmere." 

"  And  God  forgive  me  that  I  did  not,"  his  mother 
answered  earnestly.  "  But  this  excuse  I  have,  my  son : 
I  did  not  realize  what  her  unbelief  was;  I  could  not 
realize  it." 

Philip  turned  away  wearily. 

"  She  will  never  consent  to  give  the  child  up,"  he 
said.  -^»~ 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  that,"  his  mother  answered 
more  confidently, "  provided  you  are  enough  convinced  of 
the  truth  in  my  words  to  give  me  the  authority  to  act." 

"  The  truth  of  what  you  say  can  not  be  denied,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  it  seems  too  hard  and  cruel  to  leave  her  all 
alone." 


288  THE   FELMEEES. 

Mrs.  Felmere  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  a 
moment,  then  said  slowly : 

"  I  have,  my  son,  told  you  all  I  think  about  this  mat- 
ter, and  have  only  this  to  add  :  that  to  stand  and  see  your 
child  grow  up  an  atheist — to  feel  that  if  he  should  die 
he  would  be  inevitably  lost — to  know  that  when  at  the 
last  I  stand  before  the  judgment  I  can  be  held  account- 
able in  part  for  the  loss  of  that  little  soul — to  feel  all 
this  is  breaking  my  heart  and  making  my  life  utterly 
miserable — utterly  miserable !  " 

Philip  paused.  He  would  have  liked  to  wring  his 
hands  like  a  woman  !  As  it  was,  he  thrust  them  deeper 
into  his  pockets  while  his  mother  spoke,  and  when  she 
ceased  he  said : 

"  I  put  it  all  into  your  hands,  mother.  It  has  been  a 
miserable  mistake ;  right  it  if  you  can — I  can  not."  Then 
he  went  from  the  room ;  and  Mrs.  Felmere,  left  alone, 
burst  into  tears. 

At  last  she  was  free  to  act — free  to  rid  her  conscience 
of  this  weight  that  had  been  resting  there !  She  had 
been  terror-stricken  when  she  discovered  the  depth  and 
reality  of  Helen's  infidelity ;  and  her  family  and  clergy- 
man had  not  made  light  of  it.  "  Little  worldly  sins 
could  be  forgiven  at  the  last,"  they  agreed  ;  "  but  never 
before  had  anything  like  this  come  under  their  ken, 
and  it  was  too  awful  to  be  contemplated."  Thus  poor 
Mrs.  Felmere  had  been  living  in  what  was  very  nearly 
a  purgatory  of  mental  suffering,  and  to  gain  her  point 
was  almost  too  great  a  relief.  Kow  the  child  could  be 
rescued,  and  the  contumacious  mother  quietly  sent  home. 

"  Thank  God !  "  she  whispered. 

And  up  stairs  the  mother,  alone  in  her  dim  fire-lighted 


THE  FELMERES.  289 

room,  rocked  her  child  slowly  to  and  fro  in  her  arms,  for 
ever  repeating  the  same  question  : 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  If  this  were  thus — if  this,  indeed,  were  all — 
Better  the  narrow  brain,  the  stony  heart, 
The  staring  eye  glazed  o'er  with  sapless  days, 
The  long  mechanic  pacings  to  and  fro, 
The  set  gray  life,  and  apathetic  end." 

IT  was  a  poor-looking  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  a 
third-rate  boarding-house — a  very  third-rate  house;  and 
you  might,  notwithstanding  the  landlady's  assertion  to 
the  contrary,  put  it  one  grade  lower.  It  was  a  pitifully 
bare  and  common  room,  with  an  uneven  brick  floor ;  with 
the  two  windows  either  side  the  entrance  door  barred  as 
much  with  dirt  as  with  iron ;  with  a  poor  gaunt  stove, 
that  for  many  years  had  suffered  from  a  chronic  case  of 
rust,  and  with  walls  that  were  dingy  beyond  compare ! 
The  entrance  door  and  the  two  windows  furnished  one 
side  of  the  room ;  the  blankness  of  the  opposite  wall  was 
broken  by  a  door  leading  into  an  inner  chamber ;  while 
the  two  side  walls  could  only  boast,  the  one  of  the  stove 
and  a  small  bookcase,  the  other  of  a  solitary  chair.  Be- 
tween the  stove  and  one  of  the  cobwebbed  windows,  and 
within  reaching  distance  of  the  bookcase,  stood  a  deal 
table  littered  with  books,  papers,  and  writing-materials. 
More  than  this  there  only  remains  to  be  mentioned  a 
13 


290  THE  FELMERES. 

dilapidated  writing-chair,  and  two  rags  of  carpet  that  lay, 
the  one  under  the  table,  the  other  in  front  of  the  stove. 

"A  pitiful,  poverty-stricken  place,"  Helen  thought, 
as,  entering,  she  paused  to  look  about  her.  Presently 
the  inner  door  opened,  and  a  man  came  in.  He  was 
miserably  attenuated  and  small,  with  a  stoop  in  his  shoul- 
ders that  amounted  almost  to  a  deformity.  But  his  head 
was  grand  past  question,  and  his  face  and  eyes  were  such 
as  to  make  one  overlook  his  unfortunate  body. 

Helen  turned  as  he  approached  her,  and  they  stood 
for  a  moment  scanning  each  other  closely  and  curiously. 
To  Helen  there  was  something  in  the  man's  face  and 
eyes  that  seemed  strangely  mixed  up  with  her  past  life  ; 
and  he  recognized  in  her  the  beautiful  woman  whose  life 
he  had  saved  on  the  cliff — the  woman  on  whose  face  he 
had  then  seen  hopelessness  written,  and  in  whose  eyes  he 
now  saw  nothing  but  despair. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Heath  ? "  she  asked  at  last. 

"  I  am,"  he  answered ;  then,  bringing  the  one  extra 
chair  from  the  opposite  wall,  he  placed  it  for  her,  and 
waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"  I  have  come  to  you,  Mr.  Heath,"  she  began  after  a 
little  pause,  "  because  I  heard  you  would  help  people 
who  were  in  trouble ;  and  you  should  know  better  than 
any  one  how  deep  my  trouble  must  be." 

"  I  do  know  how  deep  your  trouble  must  be,"  he 
answered  solemnly,  for  he  remembered  the  day  on  the 
cliff ;  "and  I  will  help  you  if  I  can.  But  what  is  your 
trouble  ? " 

"  I  am  an  unbeliever,  and  my  husband  is  a  believer. 
We  have  one  child,  a  son,  and  I  do  not  know  what  to  do. 
I  can  not  give  him  up,  yet  how  can  I  keep  him  ? " 


THE  FELMERES.  291 

The  story  told  in  so  few  words  and  in  so  straightfor- 
ward a  manner  puzzled  her  listener;  it  was  certainly 
a  very  strange  recital,  and  at  first  hearing  Mr.  Heath 
was  somewhat  provoked  at  the  nature  of  it.  A  person 
who  was  so  deliberate  and  cool  an  infidel  as  this  woman 
seemed,  deserved  to  suffer.  What  did  she  come  to  him 
for  ?  What  did  she  expect  him  to  say  ?  These  were  his 
thoughts  until  he  looked  in  the  pleading  face  opposite 
him  and  recalled  the  real  sorrow  in  her  voice ;  then  he 
concluded  there  was  something  behind  that  would  ex- 
plain the  mystery.  So,  after  a  moment's  pause  in  which 
to  change  his  temper,  he  asked  kindly : 

"  And  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  And  how  is  it  you 
come  to  me  for  advice  ? " 

"  I  heard  that  you  were  kind,"  she  answered  sadly, 
"  and  I  have  not  a  creature  in  the  world  to  ask  counsel 
of.  So,  after  I  heard  you  preach,  and  recognized  you  as 
the  person  who  had  seen  me  when  overcome  by  my  sor- 
row, I  thought  you  more  than  any  other  would  realize 
the  depth  of  it,  and  help  me  if  you  could." 

The  story  looked  more  pitiful  now  than  provoking, 
and  Mr.  Heath's  voice  was  more  gentle  as  he  said  : 

"  Tell  me  first  how  you  became  an  unbeliever,  and 
why  you  continue  so." 

"  My  father  educated  me  in  unbelief,"  she  answered  ; 
"  and  I  continue  so  because  I  can  not  believe,  and  because 
I  promised  him  I  would  never  desert  him." 

"  Is  your  father  living  ? " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  If  he  were,  I  should  need  no 
other  counsel  nor  strength.  He  would  tell  me  what  was 
proper,  and  help  me  to  do  it." 

The  story  was   becoming  more  puzzling,  and  Mr. 


292  THE  FELMERES. 

Heath  could  only  strive  through  questions  to  find  the 
right  clew;  but  he  hesitated  before  he  asked  the  next 
question :  he  did  not  know  how  much  his  visitor  wished 
to  tell  him. 

"Did  your  husband,"  he  began  slowly,  "know  when 
he  married  you  that  you  were  an  unbeliever  ? " 

"  Yes,"  was  answered  unfalteringly.  "  He  was  my 
cousin,  and  knew  all  about  me  :  knew  I  had  been  trained 
an  unbeliever,  and  had  sworn  to  continue  so ;  knew  it 
was  only  to  please  my  father  that  I  accepted  him.  Yet, 
through  all,  he  married  me;  now  he  does  not  care  for 
me  any  more,  and  I  think  he  will  take  my  child  from 
me !  and  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

Mr.  Heath  hid  his  eyes  with  his  hand  ;  it  was  too 
wretched  a  story  as  it  slowly  dawned  on  him ;  nor  did  he 
know  what  to  say,  for  all  his  sympathies  were  going  writh 
the  infidel.  Then  he  asked  slowly  : 

"Do  you  mean  that  your  husband  is  going  to  sepa- 
rate you  from  your  child  entirely,  or  that  he  intends  edu- 
cating him  as  a  Christian,  and  so  only  alienating  him  ? " 

His  companion  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"  One  is  as  bad  as  the  other,"  she  said. 

"  So  I  think,"  Mr.  Heath  answered ;  "  but  surely  you 
can  not  expect  me  to  advise  against  educating  your  child 
as  a  Christian,  or  to  condemn  your  husband  for  doing  it." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  condemn  my  husband  at  all," 
Helen  said ;  "  nor  do  I  blame  him  for  such  a  wish,  for  it 
is  but  natural  in  him.  The  only  question  I  have  to 
decide  is,  what  is  best  for  the  child.  When  that  is  set- 
tled to  my  satisfaction,  I  shall  bend  all  my  energies 
and  strength  to  accomplish  it.  I  have  thought  about  it 
so  much  that  I  am  distracted,  and  so  have  come  to  you 


THE   FELMERES.  293 

for  help.  You  looked  true,  as  though  you  could  put 
aside  any  prejudice  against  me,  or  bias  for  my  husband, 
and  act  solely  for  the  good  of  the  child." 

Her  face  seemed  to  grow  stronger  as  she  spoke ;  but 
a  look  of  latent  agony  in  her  eyes  and  about  her  lips 
touched  the  man  in  front  of  her  as  no  pleading  would 
have  done. 

"  I  can  not  advise  anything  but  that  your  child  be 
brought  up  a  Christian,"  he  answered  sadly ;  "  you  could 
not  expect  anything  else  from  me  ? " 

"No,  certainly  not."  Then  her  voice  faltered  and 
she  had  to  pause  a  moment.  "  And  I  confess  I  came 
here  more  to  be  confirmed  in  that  opinion  than  anything 
else." 

"  If  you  wish  him  to  be  a  Christian,"  Mr.  Heath  said 
eagerly,  "you  will  be  one  yourself,  and  your  troubles  are 
at  an  end ! " 

"  You  misunderstand  me,"  Helen  answered,  drawing 
back.  "  I  do  not  wish  him  to  be  a  Christian  because  I 
am  convinced,  but  only  because  I  think  it  more  expe- 
dient." 

There  came  a  trifle  of  scorn  and  some  pity  into  the 
expression  of  her  listener's  face  as  he  asked  : 

"  Why  is  it  not  just  as  expedient  for  him  to  be  an 
unbeliever  as  for  you  ? " 

"  Because  my  life  has  been  an  utter  failure !  I  have 
been  bitterly  unhappy,  and  I  want  his  life  to  be  differ- 
ent." 

"  And  why  has  your  life  been  a  failure  ? "  Mr.  Heath 
went  on.  "  There  are  numbers  of  unbelievers  to  give 
you  countenance  ;  unbelief  is  actually  becoming  fashion- 
able. Why  is  it  you  have  no  friends  and  companions  ?  " 


294:  THE   FELMERES. 

Helen  shook  her  head. 

"  That  is  not  what  I  meant ;  you  misunderstand  me 
again :  I  meant  expedient  in  the  sense  of  happy.  My 
non-belief  is  so  empty,  I  think  Christianity  is  more  com- 
fortable." 

"  If  that  is  all,"  Mr.  Heath  answered,  "I  do  not  see 
the  need  you  feel  to  sacrifice  yourself  in  giving  up  your 
child.  If  there  is  to  you  no  principle  involved,  he  should 
give  up  his  comfort  for  yours." 

Helen  looked  puzzled :  what  a  peculiar  man  this  was  ! 

"  Then  you  think  I  need  not  let  him  go  ? "  she  asked 
doubtfully. 

"  Certainly  you  need  not,  if  it  is  only  his  comfort  in 
this  life  that  is  endangered,"  Mr.  Heath  answered.  "  If 
you  are  sure  there  is  no  life  to  come ;  that  death  is  the 
final  end ;  that  there  is  no  heaven  and  no  hell ;  that  there 
is  no  danger  of  his  being  eternally  damned — if  you  are 
sure  of  this,  1  would  not  for  one  moment  think  of  sacri- 
ficing my  own  comfort  for  his  in  such  a  little  matter  as 
this  world's  happiness.  Life  is  at  best  a  short  affair — 
soon  over." 

Helen  sat  silent.  How  strange  that  this  man  should 
give  her  the  very  reasons  with  regard  to  her  son's  life 
that  she  had  urged  with  regard  to  herself  years  ago ! 

"  I  gave  myself  all  those  reasons  years  ago  when  I 
promised  my  father  not  to  forsake  him,"  she  answered 
almost  absently,  her  mind  going  back  the  while ;  then 
added  more  slowly,  "  but  they  did  not  satisfy  me." 

Mr.  Heath  looked  at  her  doubtfully.  "  I  do  not  quite 
comprehend  you,"  he  said.  "You  tell  me  first  that  you 
have  been  educated  an  unbeliever,  and  have  promised  to 
remain  so ;  still,  you  are  not  sufficiently  satisfied  to  train 


THE   FELMERES,  295 

your  child  as  you  were  trained.  Did  you,  believing  there 
was  a  risk,  or  a  shadow  of  truth  in  Christianity,  dare  to 
make  such  a  promise — dare  to  throw  away  your  immor- 
tal soul  2 " 

How  his  eyes  gleamed  and  shone  as  he  questioned 
her,  and  what  awful  depths  there  seemed  in  them  as  he 
fixed  them  on  her  as  though  striving  to  read  her  inmost 
thoughts !  She  met  the  look,  and  her  answer  came  sad 
and  quiet : 

"  Yes,  I  did  dare  it.  My  father  dared  it,  and  he,  lov- 
ing me  as  never  parent  loved  a  child  before,  asked  me  to 
dare  to  stand  by  him ;  and  I  promised,  and  shall  fulfill 
my  promise.  I  acknowledge  I  think  my  life  is  a  failure, 
but  I  believe  it  is  owing  more  to  my  weakness  than  my 
training.  I  can  not  prove  this,  because  I  can  not  go  back 
and  educate  myself  afresh ;  but,  recognizing  the  fact  that 
my  life  is  a  failure,  and  not  being  able  to  prove  where- 
fore, I  must  take  the  most  probable  causes,  and  strive  to 
leave  them  out  of  my  son's  education." 

"And  why,"  Mr.  Heath  asked,  "do  you  put  down 
your  unbelief  as  one  of  these  causes  ? " 

"  Because  it  made  me  different  from  my  kind,"  she 
answered  readily ;  "  because,  seeing  every  one  around  me 
with  near  motives,  my  life  seemed  empty  with  only  far- 
off  ones.  I  was  not  content  to  sacrifice  my  happiness  for 
an  abstract  principle  of  truth  that  was  being  preserved 
for  future  generations.  This  life,  as  you  say,  is  but  a 
short  affair,  but  it  was  all  I  had,  and  I  naturally  wanted 
it  to  be  happy.  But  it  has  not  been,  for  I  was  not  gen- 
erous enough  to  be  happy  in  feeling  that  I  was  living  for 
the  good  of  my  kind ;  nor  was  I  strong  enough  to  re- 
fuse to  give  up  my  wishes  when  my  father's  happiness 


296  THE   FELMERES. 

was  in  the  balance.  Thus  I  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied 
with  emptiness.  It  is  not  because  your  belief  is  reason- 
able, or  because  my  unbelief  is  unreasonable,  that  I  am  un- 
happy; but  because  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  stand 
alone — because  I  am  not  noble  enough  to  live  a  life 
guided  by  abstract  principles,  and  barren  of  all  reward 
or  punishment." 

Mr.  Heath  listened  patiently  until  she  finished,  then 
asked : 

"  And  now  that  you  have  reached  these  conclusions, 
why  do  you  not  for  expediency's  sake  become  a  Chris- 
tian, and  put  some  hope — never  mind  how  silly — and 
some  motives — never  inind  how  low — into  your  life  ? 
Why  keep  to  your  level,  barren  nothingness  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly  as  she  answered : 

"  Because  I  promised  my  father." 

"  And  you  kept  your  promise  as  long  as  he  lived ;  but 
why  keep  it  any  longer  ?  If  he  is  dead  as  you  believe 
in  death,  it  can  make  no  difference  to  him  now." 

Mr.  Heath  was  almost  sorry  he  had  said  it  when  he 
saw  the  paleness  that  crept  over  his  listener's  face.  She 
raised  her  hand  as  though  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

"  But  if  he  should  not  be ! "  she  cried,  and  her  voice 
was  low  and  tense — "if  you  should  be  right,  and  I 
wrong,  I  could  not  even  then  desert  him.  I  would 
rather  bear  all  the  consequences  than  be  in  peace  and  see 
him  suffer !  Oh,  heaven  itself  would  be  hell  under  those 
circumstances ! " 

"  And  you  admit  the  possibility  of  a  future  state  ?  " 

"  A  possibility — yes,  but  not  probability." 

Mr.  Heath  paused  a  moment  after  her  answer,  then 
said: 


THE  FELMERES.  297 

"  Admitting  then  this  possibility,  I,  a  Christian,  am 
convinced  by  you,  an  unbeliever,  that  your  child  should 
be  trained  a  Christian." 

"  And  must  I,"  she  asked,  as  though  not  quite  un- 
derstanding the  position  she  had  been  brought  to  occupy 
—"must  I  let  him  go?"  A  moment's  pause,  then  a 
quick,  sharp  sigh.  "  I  can  not,  I  can  not !  "  she  cried. 
"  I  tell  you,  in  all  the  world  I  have  no  other  soul  to 
cling  to  ;  there  is  no  other  creature  that  is  all  my  own ! " 
The  last  words  came  like  a  wail,  as  though  the  heart 
had  crowded  the  reason  down  and  now  stood  clamoring 
for  itself,  crying  out  against  being  desolated !  "I  can 
not,  I  will  not  let  him  go  !  " 

Her  listener  waited  quietly.  He  had  expected  some 
such  outburst;  for  no  woman,  no  mother,  could  argue 
for  long  in  that  quiet  strain  about  giving  up  her  only 
child.  And  the  last  cry  of  agony  had  been  watched 
for;  and  patiently  he  began  the  same  arguments  over 
again. 

"  Can  you  reconcile  yourself,"  he  asked,  "  to  making 
him  run  the  same  fearful  risks  you  are  running  at  this 
moment  ? " 

"  My  father,  I  tell  you,  let  me  run  them  ! " 

"  And  if  we  are  right — "  Mr.  Heath  began. 

"  I  know  all  you  can  say,"  she  interrupted,  sharply 
striking  her  hand  on  the  table — "  I  know  all  you  can 
urge,  and  more.  I  can  see  him  cut  off  from  all  his  kind, 
as  I  have  been ;  I  can  see  his  life  stretch  blank  and  hope- 
less before  him ;  I  can  see  the  spring  taken  out  of  every 
action,  and  the  light  out  of  all  his  days  by  this  nothing- 
ness I  cling  to  ;  but  I  can  not  let  him  go  ! "  The  words 
seemed  to  rush  from  her  lips,  so  fast  and  passionate  were 


298  THE  FELMERES. 

they,  ending  with  the  pitiful  iteration,  "  I  can  not  let 
him  go ! " 

"  And  you  would  doom  him  to  the  same  path  of  suf- 
fering you  now  find  so  intolerable  ? "  The  voice  was  sad 
beyond  description. 

"And  must  I  add  to  the  intolerableness  ? "  The 
question  was  pitifully  pleading. 

"  Let  us  put  it  differently,"  Mr.  Heath  said  patiently. 
"  Give  way  to  your  clearer  reason  and  better  self,  and 
you  acknowledge  it  is  better  even  from  a  worldly  stand- 
point for  your  child  to  be  a  Christian.  Now,  acknowl- 
edging this,  surrender  him,  feeling  that,  if  the  sacri- 
fice is  hard,  it  has  been  made  through  your  love  for  him ; 
that  ever  in  his  looking  back  he  will  remember  and  rev- 
erence you  for  it." 

"  He  will  not  be  allowed  to  remember  me  at  all,"  she 
answered  bitterly. 

"  Even  so ;  let  him  never  know  you,  let  him  never 
hear  your  name,  never  know  you  cared  for  him.  Are 
you  not  strong  enough  to  put  yourself  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ?  Are  you  not  mother  enough  to  look  only  to  the 
good  of  the  child,  and,  subverting  self,  be  thankful  you 
can  do  something  for  the  future  of  your  son,  for  at  best 
his  future  will  be  clouded  ? " 

"When  he  ceased  the  face  opposite  him  had  changed  ; 
there  was  a  light  and  a  strength  in  it  he  had  never  seen 
before ;  and  the  eyes  shone !  She  had  heard  the  old 
war-cry  of  her  youth — the  cry  that  had  urged  her  through 
her  life  and  its  sacrifices :  "  Are  you  not  strong  enough  3 " 
Had  her  father  come  back  ?  Was  it  not  his  voice  she 
heard  saying  the  old  familiar  words  ?  She  answered  to 
the  call  almost  by  instinct. 


THE   FELMERES.  299 

"  I  will  do  it !  " 

The  voice  and  the  words  were  quiet,  but  there  was 
no  faltering  in  them.  The  habits  and  training  of  all  her 
life  laid  their  clinging  hands  about  her,  and  she  took  her 
old  position.  "  Life  was  short  at  best,  and  a  little  suffer- 
ing more  or  less  did  not  matter ;  she  was  born  to  trouble ; 
she  must  learn  to  bear  her  fate." 

The  Christian  priest  watched  the  beautiful  face  as  the 
light  went  out  of  it  and  it  seemed  to  settle  into  quiet 
endurance.  Would  she  be  strong  enough  to  keep  her 
word,  he  wondered — strong  enough  without  the  help  of 
religion,  without  the  hope  of  a  future  life  ? 

Presently  she  rose. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  she  said  ;  then  paused  a  moment 
before  she  went  on  slowly  :  "  You  have  made  me  decide 
on  what  is  best  for  my  child  as  far  as  I  can  see.  My 
father  judged  differently  for  me,  but  here  I  think  he 
would  have  agreed  with  me,  for  the  practical  results  of 
my  education  have  been  miserable.  I  thank  you  for 
helping  me  to  end  my  suspense,  although  you  have  left 
me  hopeless ;  but  you  must  not  let  this  thought  annoy 
you,  for  it  is  but  where  I  have  before  stood.  And  now, 
good-by.  May  I  come  again  ? " 

Mr.  Heath  took  the  hand  she  held  out  in  both  his  own. 

"  If  you  only  will,"  he  said  gently,  "  by  God's  mercy 
I  may  some  time  help  you."  Then  after  a  little  pause  : 
"  I  shall  pray  for  you  day  and  night." 

The  words  came  back  to  her  as  they  had  been  said 
before :  "  I  will  pray  for  you  day  and  night,  that  God 
will  save  your  soul " ;  and  the  thought  of  that  gentler 
sorrow  that  was  now  so  overshadowed  brought  a  mist  of 
tears  before  her  eyes. 


300  THE   FELMERES. 

"I  have  been  prayed  for  before,"  she  said;  "and  if 
you  think  it  will  do  me  any  good,  I  thank  you.  Good- 
by."  Then  she  was  gone,  and  the  room  seemed  poorer 
and  the  day  darker  as  she  passed  away. 

And  the  man  left  standing  there  drew  a  long  breath, 
as  one  coming  back  to  present  things  after  absorbing 
dreams ! 


CHAPTER  YI. 

"  And,  coveting  the  heart  a  hard  man  broke, 
One  standeth  patient,  watching  in  the  night, 
And  waiting  in  the  daytime." 

"  HELEN,"  Mrs.  Felmere  said,  one  day  not  long  after 
Helen's  visit  to  Mr.  Heath,  "  we  have  decided,  Philip 
and  I,  that  the  child  should  be  baptized." 

This  announcement  was  sudden,  for  nothing  had  as 
yet  been  openly  said  in  the  family  on  this  subject ;  and 
now  this  unexpected  mention  made  Helen  feel  as  though 
her  breath  had  left  her,  and  something  \vas  tugging  at 
her  throat.  There  was  quite  a  moment's  pause  before 
she  found  her  voice ;  then  she  answered  slowly : 

"Yes." 

"  We  thought  we  would  ask  Mr.  Tolman  to  come  to 
the  house,"  Mrs.  Felmere  went  on,  "  and  have  only  the 
family  present." 

"  Yes,"  Helen  again  assented,  still  finding  it  hard  to 
speak. 

This  non-committal  style  of  conversation  began  to 
have  its  effect  on  Mrs.  Felmere,  causing  her  to  feel  both 


THE  FELMERES.  301 

uncertain  and  uncomfortable;  but  she  persisted  in  her 
course. 

"  I  wish  to  name  the  child  Philip,  but  my  son  says  he 
thinks  you  wish  to  name  him  after  your  father." 

"  I  did  so  wish,"  Helen  answered. 

"  Well,  have  you  changed  your  mind  ? " 

"  My  mind  has  never  yet  been  fixed." 

"  Will  you  then  fix  it,  and  let  us  discuss  the  matter? " 
Mrs.  Felmere's  tone  was  becoming  stiff. 

Helen  thought  a  moment,  then  answered  very  slowly : 

"  If  the  child  is  to  inherit  Felmere,  I  prefer  his  being 
named  Hector  ;  it  has  always  been  the  name  of  the  eldest 
son,  except  my  brother." 

Mrs.  Felmere  did  not  understand  the  apparent  inde- 
cision on  her  daughter's  part,  and  asked  sharply : 

"  Who  else  is  there  to  inherit  Felmere  ? " 

Helen  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  mine,"  she  answered, 
"  to  leave  as  I  please." 

"  But  you  surely  would  not  leave  it  away  from  your 
child ! " 

"  When  I  decide  on  what  I  wish  the  child  namecl," 
Helen  answered,  quietly  passing  over  Mrs.  Felmere's  last 
question,  "  I  will  tell  you.  After  that,  if  Philip  desires 
another  name  for  him,  he  can  suit  himself."  Then  she 
left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Felmere  sat  thinking.  Would  Helen  really  leave 
the  place  out  of  the  family  ?  The  very  idea  of  having  no 
Felmere  Hall  to  talk  about  struck  Mrs.  Felmere  as  an  in- 
curable and  dreadful  ill.  This  Felmere  Hall  that  she 
had  so  longed  and  yearned  for,  that  she  had  planned  and 
fought  for :  ah,  she  could  not  give  up  now ;  this  thing 
must  not  be !  Of  course  the  child  should  be  named  Hec- 


302  THE  FELMERES. 

tor.  Then  she  went  to  tell  her  son  how  very  quietly  his 
wife  had  behaved  about  the  baptism,  and  how  she  had 
concluded  it  more  wise  to  name  the  child  Hector. 

Helen,  meanwhile,  strove  to  calm  and  brace  herself 
for  this  inevitable  event.  She  had  thought  herself  pre- 
pared, and  had  fixed  in  her  own  mind  that  Mr.  Heath 
should  baptize  the  child.  But  now  she  could  not  even 
think  to  any  purpose,  and  after  all  her  efforts  could  only 
decide  that  she  would  declare  this  desire  of  hers  to  her 
husband  and  his  mother,  and  would  the  next  day  go 
again  to  Mr.  Heath. 

Having  come  to  this  determination,  she  went  down 
to  the  parlor,  where  Philip  and  his  mother  were  in  grave 
silence  awaiting  dinner. 

"  Aunt,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  have  come  to  say  that  I 
am  willing  to  have  the  child  baptized,  but  on  the  condi- 
tion that  Mr.  Tolman  shall  not  do  it." 

Mrs.  Felmere  was  too  much  shocked  to  speak,  and 
Philip,  looking  at  his  wife  in  much  surprise,  asked : 

"  Whom  else  would  you  have — the  Bishop  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  the  Bishop,"  Helen  answered,  "  and 
the  honor  is  nothing  to  me.  The  person  I  wish  to  bap- 
tize the  child  is  Mr.  Heath.  He  is  a  regularly  ordained 
clergyman  of  your  church,  so  you  can  have  no  objection 
to  him.  You  may  ask  the  Bishop  about  him  if  you  like." 
And  she  gave  the  street  and  name  of  his  church. 

"  And  what  fault,  may  I  ask,  do  you  find  with  Mr. 
Tolman  \ "  Mrs.  Felmere  began,  having  partially  recov- 
ered her  astonishment,  and  at  the  same  time  found  her- 
self under  the  weight  of  a  large  access  of  indignation. 
"  Mr.  Tolman  is  about  to  be  connected  with  the  family," 
Mrs.  Felmere  continued ;  "  he  is,  more  than  this,  a  good 


THE   FELMERES.  303 

man  and  the  clergyman  of  my  church.  What  can  you 
say  against  him  ? " 

"  I  would  rather  not  discuss  Mr.  Tolman,"  Helen  an- 
swered ;  "  it  is  enough  that  I  do  not  like  him.  The  point 
with  you  has  heretofore  been  to  have  the  child  baptized. 
I  concede  that,  and  now  make  my  point  that  the  child 
shall  be  baptized  by  Mr.  Heath,  or  not  at  all.  I  will  stand 
to  this,  for  it  is  no  gain  to  me  to  have  this  thing  done — 
rather  loss." 

Then  she  left  them  and  went  back  to  her  room. 

About  the  naming  of  the  child  Helen  had  been  think- 
ing much,  and  in  the  train  of  these  thoughts  came  many 
others  of  deeper  import.  If  she  allowed  her  son  to  be 
trained  a  Christian,  would  it  not  be  better  for  the  child 
never  to  know  her  ?  Ought  she  not  to  carry  the  plan 
completely  out  and  leave  him  altogether  ?  And  if  she 
were  going  to  leave  him,  would  it  not  be  better  to  let 
the  family  train  and  name  the  child  to  suit  themselves, 
and  let  her  go  away  back  to  her  own  home  ?  And  here 
she  would  pause  in  her  cogitations  and  plans,  for  she 
could  not  decide.  She  would  even  go  so  far  as  to  think 
whether  or  not  she  should  leave  him  the  old  place,  and 
give  herself  reasons  for  and  against  it.  There  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  do  it.  The  child  would  never  be 
taught  to  love  or  reverence  either  herself  or  her  father ; 
the  place  would  have  no  associations  for  him,  no  sacred- 
ness  in  his  eyes ;  it  would  ever  be  represented  to  him  by 
his  grandmother  as  the  home  of  her  husband  !  If  she 
should  live  and  hold  the  property  until  after  the  child 
came  of  age,  it  would  be  different ;  for  she  could  then 
send  for  him,  and,  making  herself  known  to  him,  put  the 
old  house  and  things  into  his  own  hands  ;  and  if  he  had 


304  THE  FELMERES. 

not  too  muck  Jourdan  in  him,  he  would  value  them  for 
themselves,  and  not  because  they  made  him  able  to  say 
to  the  world,  "  I  have  an  ancestral  home  !  " 

How  she  despised  the  Jourdans  !  There  was  an- 
other thought  she  could  never  reconcile  herself  to :  it 
was  that  Mrs.  Fehnere  should  ever  set  foot  inside  of  Fel- 
mere.  The  place  seemed  to  her  too  sacred ;  she  could 
not  bear  to  think  of  those  cold,  light  eyes  looking  about 
and  appraising  things  that  to  her  were  worth  more  than 
all  the  world — old  things  hallowed  by  association,  and 
beautified  by  the  touch  of  dear,  dead  hands  !  Ah,  that 
should  never  be ! 

Thus  her  thoughts  would  wander  off  into  the  farthest 
possibilities,  and  finally,  after  long  circuits  of  unanswer- 
able questions,  come  back  to  the  naming  of  the  child  and 
her  first  round  of  arguments.  "  If  he  had  the  place, 
ghe  would  wish  him  to  be  named  Hector ;  and  yet  she 
could  not  know  if  she  were  going  to  live  until  her  son 
was  of  age.  Then,  again,  if  he  were  to  be  brought  up 
among  the  Jourdans,  she  would  prefer  his  not  being 
named  Hector — often  ending  with  the  wild  wish  to  take 
him  away  and  rear  him  as  she  pleased  !  Then  she  would 
wring  her  hands,  or  cast  herself  down  and  sob  as  though 
her  heart  would  break  !  How  could  she — how  could  she 
go  away  and  leave  him  !  But  it  was  not  often  she  let 
herself  reach  this  point ;  for  she  ever  strove,  and  wisely, 
to  keep  her  mind  off  side  issues,  such  as  the  naming  of 
the  child  and  the  bequeathing  of  the  place. 

Mr.  Heath,  meanwhile,  thought  much  about  her,  and 
often  wondered  who  she  was.  Only  once  since  her  visit 
had  he  seen  her,  and  then  she  was  driving  among  the 
rich  and  fashionable  people  in  the  park,  and  did  not  see 


THE  FELMERES.  305 

him.  It  was  a  strange  case,  he  thought,  that  a  woman 
with  everything  this  world  could  give  should  yet  seek 
him  out  in  his  poverty  and  obscurity,  to  tell  him  her 
sorrows,  and  ask  his  help.  It  certainly  was  very  strange, 
and  he  often  wondered  how  it  would  all  end,  and  if  she 
would  really  come  to  him  again.  Poor  thing  !  he  was 
very  sorry  for  her. 

But  she  did  come  again,  and,  standing  in  the  same 
place,  scanned  him  in  the  same  way. 

"  I  am  come  again,  Mr.  Heath,"  she  said,  as  they 
shook  hands,  "  and  this  time  it  is  to  ask  some  questions. 
I  will  try  not  to  keep  you  long." 

"  I  am  glad  to  give  you  my  time,"  he  answered,  as 
they  sat  down,  "  and  only  hope  I  may  be  able  rightly  to 
answer  your  questions." 

"  They  are  not  difficult."  Then  she  paused.  "  I 
have  consented  that  the  child  should  be  baptized,"  she 
went  on  more  slowly,  "  and  that,  of  course,  means  that 
he  shall  be  reared  a  Christian.  Now,  the  question  is — is 
it  wiser  for  the  child  that  I  should  stay  with  him  or 
leave  him  ?  Shall  I  give  him  up  body  as  well  as  soul  ? " 
There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  she  went  on  :  "  My 
desire  is  that  you  put  aside  all  consideration  of  me  in 
this  matter,  and  look  only  to  the  good  of  the  child  ;  and 
for  you  to  do  this  justly,  you  should  know  somewhat  of 
the  child's  circumstances  and  surroundings.  He  will 
grow  up  among  a  set  of  people  who  are  nominally  Chris- 
tians, but  Christians  stamped  with  the  '  image  and  super- 
scription '  of  the  world.  This  Christianity,  as  you  will 
already  have  concluded,  is  neither  true  nor  deep,  and 
can  not  have  much  hold  on  a  true  nature,  such  as  I  hope 
my  child's  will  be ;  and  knowing  this,  I  can  not  but  think 


306  THE  FELMERES. 

that  my  staying  may  cloud  even  the  small  fragment  of 
faith  they  may  succeed  in  inculcating.  I  have  no  desire 
to  do  this,  for  I  am  truly  seeking  my  child's  happiness, 
and  I  well  know  he  will  not  find  it  in  doubt.  "Whatever 
he  is,  let  him  be  that  honestly.  Christian  or  nationalist, 
he  must  not  be  lukewarm  ;  for  of  all  that  is  the  bitterest 
suffering !  On  the  other  hand,  if  his  nature  is  false, 
and  I  mingle  in  his  life,  he  will  prefer  my  unbelief,  for 
his  nature  will  then  be  untrammeled  !  But  more  than 
all  this,  will  it  be  happy  for  him  to  learn  to  love  a  mother 
he  will  have  to  regard  as  a  lost  soul  ?  Had  I  not  better 
go  away  quietly  and  leave  him  to  grow  up  not  knowing 
me?" 

Mr.  Heath  could  not  answer;  he  could  not  tell  her 
she  must  go,  he  could  not  tell  her  she  must  stay ! 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  say,"  he  began  at  last.  "  I 
could  not  advise  you  to  teach  him  yourself,  for  your 
teaching  would  not  be  true,  and  I  hold  religion  far  too 
sacred  to  be  taught  falsely ;  I  could  not  ask  you  to  be 
such  a  hypocrite." 

"  And  I  could  not  be,"  she  answered.  "  If  I  stay," 
she  added,  "  I  shall  have  to  stand  by  and  see  others  train 
and  teach  him ;  and  I  do  not  know  that  I  should  be 
strong  enough  to  hold  myself  from  molding  him.  I  do 
not  know  what  to  do." 

"  If  she  were  only  a  Christian ! "  he  thought ;  then 
spoke  slowly : 

"  If  it  is  better  for  your  child  to  be  a  Christian,  I  ask 
again,  why  not  for  you  ? " 

And  she,  going  back  loyally,  made  the  old  answer  : 

"  Because  my  father  did  not  think  it  best ;  because  I 
took  an  oath  to  stand  by  him  for  ever." 


THE   FELMERES.  307 

"  And  you  do  not  fear  the  risk  ? " 

"  I  can  not  really  believe  there  is  any  risk ;  it  is  only 
a  dim,  shadowy  possibility  that  haunts  me  sometimes. 
When  I  analyze  your  religion,  it  is  as  mysteriously  con- 
tradictory as  a  fairy  tale  :  it  is  to  me  a  mass  of  beautiful 
foolishness." 

Mr.  Heath  rose  and  walked  td  the  window,  and  back 
again  to  the  inner  door ;  then  asked  : 

"  Have  you  ever  talked  with  any  one,  I  mean  any 
Christians,  on  this  subject  ? ' 

"Yes." 

"  And  did  they  in  no  way  sway  you  \  " 

"  No ;  I  only  thought  it  all  very  beautiful  and  very 
comfortable,  but  not  very  reasonable.  Perhaps,  if  my 
faith  had  been  cultivated  more  and  my  reason  less, 
I  should  have  looked  at  it  differently;  but  now  I  can 
not." 

Mr.  Heath  thought  a  moment,  then  answered  slowly : 

"  In  that  it  is  beyond  reason,  I  know  it  is  unreason- 
able." 

"  How  then  can  you  hold  it  ? "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  Because  it  also  comes  down  within  the  sphere  of  both 
reason  and  common  sense." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  can  not  see  this  as  you  do,"  she  answered;  "it 
puzzles  me ;  I  get  lost  in  trying  to  think  it  out.  I  can 
not  see  so  far  as  to  understand  why  your  God  took  the 
trouble  to  make  us.  Do  you  think  he  made  us  for  his 
glory  ?  Do  you  think  he  likes  the  wails  and  cries  of  ag- 
ony that  for  ever  go  up  ?  This  God  that  is  all-merciful 
and  all-powerful :  could  he  not  have  saved  us  by  his  word, 
and  without  all  this  suffering — without  this  elaborate  plan 


308  THE   FELMERES. 

of  salvation  ?  It  surely  seems  a  great  deal  of  useless  sor- 
row and  work." 

"  We  do  not  know  why  he  made  us,"  Mr.  Heath  an- 
swered, "  but  we  know  we  are  here  ;  and  we  can  not  com- 
prehend his  plan  of  salvation,  but  we  understand  enough 
of  it  at  least  to  use  it  to  overcome  our  sinful  natures, 
and  so  be  saved  from  the  death  of  sin.  Look  where  you 
will,  you  see  the  whole  physical  universe  governed  by 
laws ;  would  it  have  been  wiser,  do  you  think,  to  have 
made  the  moral  universe  without  laws,  without  any  plan, 
a  chaotic  uncertainty  ?  Must  God,  because  he  is  all-mer- 
ciful, save  us  in  spite  of  ourselves — raise  us  from  this 
life  to  a  higher  state,  whether  or  not  we  are  prepared  to 
understand  or  even  desire  that  higher  state  ?  The  moral 
universe  without  laws  would  be  in  as  confused  a  state  as 
the  physical  universe  without  laws.  We  do  not  expect 
the  law  of  gravitation  to  be  done  away  with  because  we 
choose  to  jump  out  of  a  window ;  and  we  know  that  if 
we  do  so  foolish  a  thing  we  shall  certainly  be  dashed 
upon  the  earth  and  be  killed.  Why,  after  living  a  dis- 
obedient life,  should  we  expect  God  to  do  away  with  the 
natural  results  consequent  on  broken  moral  laws,  any 
more  than  he  should  do  away  with  the  suffering  conse- 
quent on  our  dashing  ourselves  from  a  window  ?  I  can 
not  see,  and  yet  on  all  hands  I  meet  this  expectation.  The 
same  God  established  all  the  laws,  and  why  they  should 
not  be  carried  out  equally  seems  a  strange  inconsistency 
to  me.  In  both  cases  humanity  is  fairly  warned ;  and 
why,  if  we  believe  at  all,  should  we  not  believe  as  firmly 
in  one  set  of  laws  as  in  the  other  ? " 

His  tone  had  become  as  the  tone  of  one  musing,  as 


THE  FELMERES.  309 

though  he  had  forgotten  his  companion ;  and  her  answer, 
coming  slowly,  startled  him : 

"  And  you  wish  me  to  say  I  humbly  receive  and  blind- 
ly believe  these  awful  mysteries  and  laws  that  go  to  make 
a  creed  which,  if  true,  condemns  my  dead  father  to  eter- 
nal damnation ! " 

Her  words  dropped  on  the  silence  heavily,  and  the 
man  before  her  pondered  sadly. 

"  No  one  can  know  God's  mercy,"  he  said  at  last ; 
"  your  father  may  be  saved." 

She  made  a  quick  gesture  with  her  hand,  as  though 
waving  his  words  aside. 

"  If  your  religion  is  true,  there  is  no  hope  for  him  ! " 
she  answered.  "  He  had  all  the  opportunities  for  being 
a  Christian,  and  he  deliberately  determined  not  to  be 
one :  more  than  this,  he  calmly  and  thoughtfully  took 
another  soul,  and,  shutting  it  ofi.  from  all  Christian  knowl- 
edge, carefully  put  every  known  barrier  between  it  and 
possible  belief  !  Is  this  not  a  deadly  sin  in  your  eyes  ?" 

The  answer  came  unfalteringly — 

"  Yes,  to  me  it  would  seem  an  unpardonable,  a  dam- 
nable sin !  but  in  another,  how  can  I  know  how  God  in 
his  omniscience  may  regard  it  ?  We  do  not  know  what 
may  have  been  revealed  in  the  depths  of  that  poor  hu- 
man heart,  what  reasons  for  his  blindness  and  weakness ! 
His  life  may  have  been  all  bitterness  and  disappointment 
until  his  faith  failed  him.  I  do  not  know — I  can  but 
leave  him  to  God  !  But  you — you  can  see  the  light  if 
you  will ;  and  if  you  will  not — " 

"  I  shall  follow  my  father." 

"  And  if  there  is  an  after  life  yon  will  for  ever  leave 
your  child  !  for  the  baptismal  cross  upon  his  brow  will  be 


310  THE  FELMERES. 

the  sign  of  the  '  great  gulf  that  will  be  set  between  you  ! 
His  little  arms  can  never  reach  you  ;  his  little  voice  can 
never  come  to  you — " 

Ah,  the  pitiful  agony  that  crept  over  the  face  opposite 
him — the  white  speechless  agony  that  made  him  wish  his 
words  unsaid  !  He  turned  away ;  he  could  not  look  at 
her.  And  she,  not  moving  her  eyes  from  his  averted 
face,  answered  slowly: 

"  And  you  would  have  me  convince  myself,  or  strive 
to  do  it,  that  a  religion  is  true  which  would  compel  me 
to  believe  that  my  father,  the  only  creature  in  all  rny 
past  that  was  my  own,  is  now  suffering  an  eternity  of  in- 
creasing torture ;  or,  unless  I  hold  this,  that  I  shall  for 
ever  lose  my  child  3 " 

Mr.  Heath  faced  her  quickly,  and  his  words  fell  fast 
and  sharp  : 

"I  would  have  you  to  suffer  that  thought,  or  any 
other,  to  save  your  soul !  Your  father  lived  his  life ;  he 
turned  from  the  light  or  he  hid  it ;  he  used  his  oppor- 
tunities as  he  deemed  best ;  and  he  is  now  in  the  hands 
of  an  infinitely  merciful  God.  But,  lying  in  his  grave, 
he  has  no  right  to  trammel  you.  He  had  no  right  to 
blind  you  and  to  drag  you  after  him !  Every  mortal 
soul  stands  or  falls  to  itself,  and  no  man  has  a  right  to 
put  another  soul  in  bondage.  I  tell  you  again,  if  your 
father  is  dead  as  you  believe  in  death,  your  keeping  your 
promise  is  of  no  avail:  if  there  is  a  hereafter" — he 
paused  a  moment,  and  his  words  came  more  slowly — 
"  will  it  make  his  sufferings  any  less  that  you  should 
stand  beside  him  to  add  the  awful  thought  that  he  had 
dragged  you  there — had  betrayed  your  trusting  inno- 
cence ? " 


THE   FELMERES.  311 

There  was  an  awful  horror  in  the  face  of  his  listener, 
and  the  eyes  looked  almost  glazed  as  they  stared  into 
his  ;  then  the  answer  came  in  a  low-strained  voice : 

"  Now  I  know  my  father  was  right,  for  he  loved  me 
more  than  he  did  himself;  and  unless  he  had  been  sure, 
he  would  never  have  made  me  follow  him  ! "  She  paused 
a  moment.  "  Could  I  make  my  child  run  any  such  risk  ? 
I  do  not  wish  him  to  run  the  risk  even  of  present  unhappi- 
ness ;  I  am  almost  willing  to  empty  my  life  for  him  by 
leaving  him ;  and  my  father  loved  me  just  as  well — nay, 
better.  In  all  his  life  he  had  no  creature  left  but  me, 
and  in  death  I  will  not  desert  him  ! "  It  was  too  awful ! 
Mr.  Heath  again  turned  his  face  away,  and  the  low  voice 
went  on  :  "  And  now,  as  I  stand  here  this  day,  suffering 
more  almost  than  I  am  able,  I  can  see  back  into  my  own 
life,  and  forward  to  my  child's.  If  I  train  him  as  I  was 
trained,  all  that  I  have  endured  he  will  also  meet ;  if  I 
rear  him  a  Christian,  then  some  day  he  will  suffer  the 
torture  for  me  that  you  would  have  me  suffer  for  my 
father.  I  will  not  put  this  on  him.  I  must  gather  up 
my  strength  and  go ! " 

It  was  almost  sublime  !  As  far  as  he  could  see,  her 
life  had  been  all  sacrifice — first  to  her  father,  now  to  her 
son.  She  had  no  God,  she  had  no  friend ;  and  now  she 
stood  ready  to  leave  herself  utterly  desolate  for  the  love 
of  her  child ! 

She  rose. 

"  I  must  go  now  ;  but  before  I  say  good-by  I  wish  to 
ask  you  if  you  will  baptize  my  child  for  me  ?  I  have 
come  to  feel  that  you  are  true ;  you  never  let  the  thought 
of  my  suffering  stand  between  you  and  what  you  think 
you  ought  to  say,  and  I  value  this.  More  than  this,  I 


312  THE  FELMERES. 

think  you  will  feel  for  me,  and  not  against  me ;  you  will 
look  on  me  as  a  suffering  woman,  and  not  as  an  obstinate 
infidel.  Will  you  do  it  for  me  ? " 

"I  will." 

"  Then,  when  the  time  comes,  I  will  send  for  you,  or 
come  for  you." 

"  And  I  shall  be  ready,"  he  answered,  then  conducted 
her  to  the  carriage  that  was  waiting. 

Once  more  alone  in  his  poor  dingy  room,  he  went 
again  over  the  morning's  talk.  This  woman  and  her 
trouble  haunted  him,  and  he  could  not  push  them  aside. 
He  wondered  if  she  would  be  able  to  give  up  her  child 
entirely — go  and  leave  it  to  live  and  grow  without  any 
knowledge  of  her — and  do  this  without  any  hope  of  re- 
ward except  the  child's  happiness  here !  It  was  wonder- 
ful! 

Poor  thing!  How  pitifully  she  clung  to  her  father — 
"  the  only  soul  in  all  her  past  that  had  been  wholly 
hers!" 

This  father  must  have  been  a  strong  man  to  gain  so 
powerful  an  influence,  and  create  such  a  love !  She  had 
never  mentioned  her  mother,  and  he  wondered  what  had 
become  of  her.  And  while  he  thought  of  her,  he  re- 
membered that  even  in  this  second  visit  she  had  not  re- 
vealed herself,  and  was  as  unknown  to  him  now  as  she 
had  been  at  first.  He  did  not  know  so  much  as  her 
name,  nor  how  she  had  ever  heard  of  him  ;  the  next  time 
he  met  her  he  would  ask  her  this  last  question :  her  name, 
of  course,  she  must  reveal  or  not,  as  she  pleased.  He 
was  pitifully  sorry  for  her,  yet  did  not  see  that  he  could 
comfort  her.  Alas!  no  mortal  could,  but  he  honestly 
believed  and  prayed  that  God  would  do  so. 


THE   FELMERES.  313 

CHAPTER  YII. 

"  Canst  thou  not  fold  rebellious  hands  at  last !  " 

MKS.  FELMEEE  was  unhappy ;  and  the  whole  Jourdan 
family,  except  Jack  and  Arthur,  were  in  a  state  of  "  I- 
told-you-so  "  and  "  "What-else-can-you-expect  ? "  sympa- 
thy. Long  ago  Mrs.  Felmere  had  given  up  trying  to 
make  Philip's  marriage  appear  a  success;  long  ago  she 
had  given  up  uncomfortable  ruses,  and  taken  to  talking 
over  things  in  delightful  conclave  with  Miss  Esther,  Mrs. 
Jourdan,  and  Amelia.  This  new  freak  of  Helen's  was 
a  charming  tit-bit ;  and,  being  left  by  Philip  to  manage 
as  best  she  could,  Mrs.  Felmere  ordered  the  carriage  and 
drove  immediately"  to  Miss  Esther's.  Here  she  found 
Mrs.  Jourdan  and  Amelia;  so  with  much  alacrity  she 
opened  her  budget. 

Miss  Esther  refused  to  be  astonished;  she  had  ex- 
pected this  all  along — was,  in  fact,  surprised  that  Helen 
consented  at  all  to  the  baptism ;  and  she  was  sure  that 
when  she  heard  of  the  proposed  plan  of  taking  the  child 
to  Europe,  she  would  poison  both  Mrs.  Felmere  and  the 
child,  for  there  was  no  telling  what  unbelievers  would 
not  do  once  they  began ! 

Mrs.  Jourdan  looked  triumphantly  sad.  Amelia  was 
not  a  beauty,  nor  was  any  great  social  or  intellectual  suc- 
cess expected  from  Jack ;  but  she  felt  certain  that  these 
commonplace  children  of  hers  would  afford  her  more 
comfort  and  satisfaction  than  poor  Sister  Amelia's  child 
14 


314  THE   F ELM  ERE S. 

had  given  her!  Mrs.  Jourdan  only  thought  this;  she 
said  that  she  was  sure  both  Amy  and  Mr.  Tolman  would 
understand  the  position,  and,  though  very  sorry  about  it, 
would  make  no  difficulty  nor  bear  any  hard  feeling.  It 
was  all  very  sad,  she  thought;  and  the  sooner  Helen 
could  be  persuaded  to  go  back  to  her  own  home,  the  hap- 
pier for  all  parties.  Philip  and  his  mother  could  stay  in 
Europe  until  the  thing  was  forgotten,  and  this  would  not 
be  very  long. 

So  Mrs.  Felmere  went  home  much  comforted.  Miss 
Esther  had  agreed  that  it  was  best  to  let  Helen  have  her 
own  way,  had  appeared  deeply  interested  in  Philip,  and 
had  consented  to  be  godmother  to  the  child. 

•This  last  was  a  great  point  gained ;  but  Mrs.  Jourdan 
felt  as  though  "  Sister  Amelia"  had  taken  an  undue  ad- 
vantage of  her ;  for,  as  they  had  always  been  comrades 
in  their  intentions  about  Miss  Esther's  money,  it  seemed 
hard  that  the  baby  should  be  brought  to  play  on  his 
great-aunt's  feelings  when  "Sister  Amelia"  knew  that 
Mrs.  Jourdan  had  no  grandchild  to  dedicate  to  that  un- 
made will !  And  Mrs.  Felmere  had  an  instinctive  cer- 
tainty of  this  feeling  of  "  Sister  Margaret's " ;  but  she 
quieted  her  conscience  by  the  knowledge  that  all  of 
Amy's  children  would  be  offered  up  after  this  same  plan, 
and  that  where  she  had  the  advantage  in  time,  they  would 
doubtless  have  it  in  number.  Poor  Jack  had  lost  all  his 
chances  by  espousing  Helen's  cause,  but  Amy  had  dou- 
bled hers  the  day  she  accepted  Mr.  Tolman  ;  and  Philip, 
too,  had  much  increased  his  by  putting  things  into  his 
mother's  hands  and  leaving  them  there — by  turning  his 
life  and  his  wife  over  to  be  managed  by  his  family ! 

This  action  was  looked  on  as  undeniable  proof  of 


THE  FELMEEES.  315 

good  training,  and  a  pledge  to  the  good  teachings  and 
influence  of  Mr.  Tolman. 

For  all  this  Mrs.  Felmere  was  truly  thankful,  and 
began  to  hope  she  might  yet  turn  her  misfortunes  and 
disappointments  concerning  Helen  into  helps  instead  of, 
as  she  had  once  feared,  hindrances.  So,  out  of  the  abun- 
dance of  her  satisfaction  and  gratitude,  she  asked  Mr. 
Tolman  to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  text,  "  All  things 
work  together  for  good,"  etc.,  and  Mr.  Tolman  said  he 
would. 

Thus  Helen  found  her  point  conceded  concerning  Mr. 
Heath,  but  a  counterpoint  made  about  Miss  Esther. 

"  You  may  name  the  child  and  have  him  baptized  by 
whom  you  please,"  Mrs.  Felmere  said ;  "  but  I  wish  my 
sister  Esther  to  be  his  godmother." 

Helen  stood  silent,  thinking.  She  longed  to  defy 
them  and  refuse  to  have  her  child  baptized  at  all ;  but  for 
the  child's  good  she  restrained  herself,  and,  though  she 
hated  Miss  Esther,  she  gave  up,  not  seeing  the  use  in  fur- 
ther contention. 

"  I  have  no  one  to  propose  as  his  godmother,"  she  an- 
swered, "  but  I  should  think  a  younger  person,  who  would 
live  long  enough  to  really  help  train  the  child,  would  be 
preferable;  and  he  will  have  enough  money  without 
hers." 

Arthur,  who  was  sitting  near,  could  not  help  smiling ; 
Philip  drummed  on  the  window-pane ;  and  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere had  to  wait  a  few  moments  before  she  could  get 
sufficient  control  of  her  voice  to  speak,  and  in  the  pause 
Helen  wTent  on : 

"  I  suppose,  then,  I  may  choose  the  godfathers.  I 
believe  a  boy  has  two  ? " 


316  THE  FELMEEES. 

"I  prefer  not  saying  anything,"  Mrs.  Felmere  an- 
swered, "  for  I  am  insulted  at  every  turn." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  insult  you,"  Helen  said  ;  "  and 
you  can  not  surely  have  forgotten  the  conversation  we 
had  on  the  subject  of  your  sister's  will  when  I  first  came  ? 
You  did  not  seem  then  to  think  it  was  wrong  to  use 
means  to  get  Philip  favorably  remembered,  so  I  natu- 
rally concluded  baby  was  to  be  used  to  make  up  my  de- 
ficiencies in  this  matter.  I  meant  no  insult.  But  I 
would  like  to  choose  the  child's  godfathers." 

"  And  you  may,"  Philip  answered,  after  a  short  si- 
lence. 

"  Thank  you." 

Then  the  conversation  dropped,  and  Arthur  shortly 
after  took  his  leave. 

Mrs.  Felmere's  curiosity  as  to  the  godfathers  was  a 
gnawing  pain,  but  she  would  not  ask — she  would  not 
stoop  to  such  a  thing  1  They  would  doubtless  be  chosen 
out  of  the  "  art-ring,"  and  one  would  probably  be  Helen's 
"  old  friend  "  Mr.  Gordon !  Philip  was  an  idiot  to  have 
given  her  any  such  permission  after  she  had  put  the  pos- 
sibility of  refusal  into  his  hands ;  but  it  did  truly  seem 
impossible  to  teach  Philip  tact  or  wisdom  !  Presently 
she  spoke,  and  Helen,  sitting  quiet,  listened  with  inten- 
sity to  her  words  ;  but  she  did  not  pause  in  her  stitching 
nor  show  in  any  way  how  vitally  she  was  interested  in 
the  conversation. 

"Philip,  Mrs.  Beaumont  sails  for  England  in  May; 
do  you  not  think  that  will  be  a  pleasant  party  to  go 
with  ? " 

"  Who  else  will  be  in  the  party  ? "  Philip  asked  in  a 
not  very  joyous  tone. 


THE  FELMERES.  317 

"  Mortimer  Beaumont  and  his  wife ;  and  I  do  not 
know  but  that  Amy  and  Mr.  Tolman  will  be  persuaded 
to  go." 

"  Will  Amelia  be  married  before  May  ? "  Helen 
asked,  wishing  to  help  the  conversation  on,  and  if  pos- 
sible find  out  the  family  plans.  That  there  was  a  plan 
she  was  sure ;  for  things  had  been  much  more  quiet  of 
late,  as  though  settled  in  their  grooves  and  working  to- 
ward some  certain  end.  Of  course  the  end  could  bring 
her  no  good,  but  she  would  rather  know  what  it  was  to 
be,  and  prepare  herself  for  it.  She  had,  as  far  as  she 
could,  settled  her  own  plans,  but  did  not  wish  to  divulge 
them  until  she  had  found  out  theirs  to  some  extent.  For, 
although  she  said  she  had  decided  to  give  up  all  and  go 
away,  yet  if  she  found  they  were  willing  she  should  keep 
her  child  in  any  half-way  fashion,  she  did  not  know  that 
she  could  leave  him.  She  would  not  attempt  to  make 
any  resistance,  for  by  law  they  could  get  him,  and  by 
patience  she  might  win  something,  never  mind  how  little. 
So  she  asked  quietly  her  question,  "  Will  Amelia  be  mar- 
ried before  May  ? " 

"  God  willing,  she  will,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered  sol- 
emnly. Then  there  was  a  pause,  in  which  Helen  wished 
very  much  to  ask  why  the  Lord  might  object,  for  she  so 
hated  this  lip-piety  of  Mrs.  Felmere  and  her  family ;  but 
she  restrained  herself,  saying  instead  : 

"  Then  I  should  think  she  would  go ;  it  will  make  it 
so  much  pleasanter  for  her  to  be  with  you." 

Mrs.  Felmere  looked  up  quickly,  but  Helen  stitched 
away  quietly;  and  Mrs.  Felmere  wondered  much  how 
Helen  had  discovered  the  plan  for  her  going.  Then  she 
answered  slowly,  watching  Helen's  face  the  while : 


318  THE  FELMERES. 

"  Yes,  and  she  can  help  me  too." 

Philip  was  watching  also,  but  not  a  muscle  moved, 
not  a  shade  more  of  color  came  or  went,  and  the  needle 
did  not  pause  in  its  going  !  They  did  not  know  by  what 
an  awful  effort  it  was  that  Helen  held  herself  in  check, 
nor  how  for  a  long  time  she  had  been  schooling  herself  to 
meet  this  trial ;  but  she  met  it  bravely,  for  the  self-con- 
trol to  which  she  had  been  trained  came  now  to  her  aid, 
and  she  went  on  quietly : 

" '  Help  you  ? '  Why,  will  you  not  take  your  maid  ? 
Will  you  not  be  very  uncomfortable  without  her  ? " 

Philip  had  stopped  his  drumming  on  the  window- 
pane,  and  stood  looking  into  the  street  without  seeing 
anything,  only  heartily  wishing  himself  away  from  before 
the  storm  he  feared  was  brewing,  ready  to  burst  on  his 
miserably  unfortunate  liead.  He  listened  anxiously  as  his 
mother  answered : 

"  Of  course  my  maid  will  go,  but  there  will  be  other 
things  to  do  beyond  her  sphere." 

The  words  fell  chillingly  on  the  daughter's  heart  and 
soul,  killing  all  the  faint  fluttering  hopes  she  had  fos- 
tered with  such  clinging  love.  She  knew  this  work 
that  was  beyond  the  maid's  sphere  meant  the  caring 
for  her  child !  But  she  did  not  cry  out  in  her  an- 
guish, nor  make  any  sign ;  she  only  felt  she  must  be 
alone  for  a  little  while  ;  so  folding  up  her  work  quietly 
she  rose. 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  time,"  she 
said — "  as  pleasant  as  I  know  I  shall  have  at  old  Fel- 
mere."  Then  she  left  the  room,  pausing  on  her  way  to 
glance  out  of  the  window,  and  to  push  back  a  vase  that 
stood  too  near  the  edge  of  a  bracket. 


THE   FELMERES.  319 

Ah,  what  a  long  breath  of  relief  Philip  drew  when 
the  door  closed  after  her ! 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  have  you  told  her  yet? " 

Mrs.  Felmere  shook  her  head. 

"  'No,  my  son,  but  she  knows." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  "  he  went  on.  "  I  mean, 
how  does  she  know  that  the  baby  is  to  go,  and  how  do 
you  know  that  she  is  aware  of  it  ? " 

"  I  understand  what  you  allude  to,"  Mrs.  Felmere 
answered,  "  and  I  know  from  many  little  signs  which  a 
man  would  not  notice  that  what  I  say  is  true.  First,  she 
is  making  for  the  child  with  her  own  hands  an  entire  set 
of  clothes,  and  learned  to  sew  in  order  that  she  might  do 
it.  There  is  no  need  for  this  unless  he  is  going  from  her. 
Second,  she  has  made  Annie  promise  to  stay  with  him 
as  his  nurse  as  long  as  she  possibly  can.  And  the  last 
thing,  and  to  me  the  strongest  evidence  of  all,  is  that 
two  months  ago  she  moved  the  child's  crib  and  clothes 
into  the  nursery  with  Annie,  giving  the  girl  the  entire 
charge  of  him,  and  only  allowing  herself  to  see  him  twice 
in  a  day,  and  never  at  night.  Does  this  not  show  that 
she  is  breaking  gradually  the  ties  between  herself  and 
the  child  ?  What  need  unless  they  are  to  be  sepa- 
rated ? " 

"She  is  strong !"  Philip  said  emphatically,  driving 
his  hands  deeper  into  his  pockets. 

"  I  call  it  heartless,"  his  mother  retorted. 

Philip  shook  his  head. 

"  If  she  were  heartless  she  would  not  need  to  break 
herself  away  gradually;  she  would  give  the  child  up 
easily." 

"  If  she  cared  for  him,  she  would  not  give  him  up  at 


320  THE  FELMERES. 

all,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered.  "I  know  I  would  not 
until  compelled." 

Philip  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  Why,  mother  !  and  yet  you  compel  Helen  to  do  this 
thing !  How  can  you  ? " 

"  I  think,  Philip,  of  the  good  of  the  child,"  his 
mother  answered.  "  What  were  the  suffering  of  ten 
lives  compared  with  the  loss  of  a  soul !  This  is  my  mo- 
tive ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  this  can  be  any  motive  to  an 
unbeliever,  especially  so  obstinate  a  one  as  she  is.  Thus 
I  am  compelled  to  put  down  her  calmness  and  willing- 
ness to  give  him  up  to  lack  of  affection." 

"  May  she  not  be  acting  for  the  child's  good  also  ? " 
Philip  asked. 

Mrs.  Felmere  smiled  bitterly. 

"  Can  you  imagine  your  wife  thinking  I  could  work 
good  to  any  creature  ? "  she  said.  "  Does  she  treat  you 
as  though  she  considered  you  a  success  ?  " 

Philip  looked  doubtful.  He  would  like  to  be  con- 
vinced by  his  mother's  reasoning.  It  would  be  more 
comfortable  to  think  Helen  did  not  care  for  the  child  ; 
and  the  thrust  in  the  last  clause  of  his  mother's  speech, 
which  he  knew  to  be  true,  hurt  him  and  aided  much  in 
confirming  his  desire  to  agree  with  his  mother;  so  he 
went  on  more  tamely  in  his  defense  of  his  wife : 

"  But,  mother,  if  she  dislikes  you  to  this  extent,  the 
very  knowledge  that  you  want  the  child  would  make  her 
keep  him  from  you." 

"  So  one  would  think,"  Mrs.  Felmere  answered,  "  un- 
less one  had  found  other  motives." 

Philip  looked  at  her  searchingly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked  sharply. 


THE  FELMERES.  321 

"  Only  this,  Philip  :  She  asked  me  once  on  whom  the 
disgrace  fell  the  most  heavily  in  case  of  a  divorce.  I 
told  her  on  the  woman.  She  is  ambitious,  beautiful, 
popular,  and  proud :  do  you  think  she  would  enjoy  being 
disgraced  ?  She  knows  if  she  demurs  you  will  get  the 
divorce  and  the  child  too,  and  she  thinks  it  better  to  give 
him  up.  More  than  this,  the  pathetic  story  she  can  make, 
that  because  she  is  an  unbeliever  you  and  I  have  taken 
her  child  from  her,  will  be  quite  a  card  in  her  hands ; 
for  the  world  will  not  stop  to  reflect  on  the  awful  re- 
sponsibility we  feel  for  that  child's  soul !  It  will  surely 
take  the  short-sighted  view  that  the  child  could  be  edu- 
cated a  Christian  anyhow,  even  with  all  her  influence 
bearing  against  it,  and  with  her  example  giving  the  lie, 
as  it  were,  to  all  our  teaching !  I  have  thought  seri- 
ously on  all  these  points,  my  son,  and  I  know  them  to 
be  true.  "Why,  already  Arthur  and  Jack  look  on  her  as 
a  martyr.  The  next  person  to  take  this  view  will  be 
Valeria  Yanzandt;  then  all  her  train  of  artist  people, 
and  people  who  admire  her  notoriety  and  bow  to  her 
money !  Ah,  my  son,  your  wife  will  have  many  more 
adherents  than  you  will,  but  you  will  be  right  1  More 
than  this,  she  may  have  other  plans.  I  doubt  her  going 
back  to  Felmere  to  live  alone."  She  paused  a  moment, 
then  added  more  slowly :  "  Did  she  not  tell  me  Fel- 
mere was  hers  to  leave  as  she  pleased,  and  that  she 
did  not  care  for  the  child  to  be  named  Hector  unless 
he  was  to  inherit  the  place?  To  what  does  all  this 
point  \ " 

Philip  turned  very  white.     Mrs.  Felmere  went  on  : 
"  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  she  might  marry 
again  ?     Divorced  Christians  do ;  and  what  better  could 


322  THE  FELMERES. 

you  expect  from  an  unbeliever  ?     I  tell  you  she  does  not 
want  the  child ! " 

Up  stairs  the  mother  sat  stitching  feverishly,  driving 
the  needle  through  monotonously,  swiftly ;  beating  down 
her  heart  with  words  that  kept  time  to  her  stitches : 
"  They  will  take  your  child,  but  you  knew  it  long  ago. 
Why  break  your  heart  ?  Life  is  short ;  death  ends  all." 
Over  and  over  again  she  said  these  words,  keeping  time 
to  her  stitch,  and  the  stitches  keeping  time  to  the  song 
the  little  nurse  sang  in  the  next  room,  "  Hush,  my  babe." 
Yes,  the  nurse's  babe,  the  father's,  the  grandmother's — 
any  one's  babe  but  hers  ?  She  was  cut  off — she  stood 
alone,  desolate,  cursed !  She  would  sew,  though — sew 
for  her  little  one ;  sew  in  love  in  every  stitch — a  drop  of 
heart's  blood  for  every  time  her  needle  pierced  the  little 
garment.  She  would  so  wrap  him  with  love  that,  baby 
as  he  was,  he  could  not  but  remember  her ! 

The  needle  snapped,  and  pricked  her  finger ;  a  drop 
of  blood  oozed  out  upon  the  little  shirt  1  She  looked  at 
it  as  though  she  did  not  know  what  it  was,  and  watched 
it  as  it  spread  into  a  larger  spot  with  a  wondering  sorrow- 
ful look.  Slowly  she  folded  the  little  garment  with  the 
spot  of  blood  inside — with  the  thread  and  broken  needle 
still  hanging  !  "  I  will  put  it  away,"  she  thought ;  "and 
when  he  is  a  man  and  I  am  long  dead,  they  shall  give  it 
to  him."  Then  she  went  to  her  writing-table  and  wrote 
a  note,,  and  folding  it  in  with  the  little  shirt,  made  a  bun- 
dle of  it,  and  on  the  outside  wrote  that  if  she  died  before 
her  son  came  of  age,  at  that  time  this  bundle  should  be 
given  him.  Then  she  laid  it  carefully  away,  and  won- 
dered if  she  was  losing  her  mind  ! 


THE   FELMERES.  323 

The  song  of  the  little  nurse  had  stopped.  She  wished 
it  would  begin  again ;  she  longed  to  hear  something  else 
than  the  noise  of  the  fire  and  the  ringing  in  her  head ! 
She  listened ;  far  down  the  street  she  heard  a  band  play- 
ing; she  put  up  a  window,  and  on  the  spring-touched 
wind  the  music  came  to  her.  A  waltz !  She  leaned  her 
head  against  the  window-frame.  How  wild  the  music 
sounded  in  the  gathering  dusk — a  waltz  to  be  played  in 
glittering  ball-rooms  for  broken-hearted  humanity  to 
dance  to !  Yes,  the  time  should  be  gay,  but  the  melody 
should  be  gathered  from  all  the  hearts  that  ever  broke — 
the  spirit  from  all  the  tears  that  ever  fell !  Poor  Human- 
ity, striving  so  despairingly  to  be  happy ! — smiling  faces 
over  breaking  hearts — dancing  feet  over  opening  graves — 
life  and  death  all  woven  in  together!  Sad  ?  How  could 
any  music  ever  be  sad  enough  for  them  to  dance  to  ! 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  face.  Was  she  going 
mad?  She  would  have  been  thankful  for  some  tears. 
Alas !  her  brain  seemed  parched,  her  eyes  dry  and  burn- 
ing! 

They  were  going  to  take  her  child  away !  She  wrung 
her  hands.  Not  more  than  six  weeks — then  such  utter, 
dead  emptiness ! 

"  O  God  ! "  she  cried  out.  She  stood  quite  still.  The 
words  came  back  to  her  time  and  again,  echoed,  and  echo- 
ing from  every  part  of  the  room — whispered  above,  about, 
within  her!  She  had  called  on  GOD — that  mysterious 
spirit  these  Christians  believed  in.  It  was  so  silent :  was 
He  there,  in  the  room  ?  She  shivered.  Had  He  heard 
her  ?  Did  He  think  she  had  forsaken  her  father  ? 

"  Never,  never  ! "  she  whispered.  "  I  tell  you  I  have 
not — I  do  not  believe.  My  father  is  all  I  have — all  I 


324:  THE  FELMERES. 

have  ! "  She  wrung  her  hands  and  crouched  on  the  floor 
by  the  fire. 

Oh,  the  horror  of  the  thought !  that  lonely  old  man, 
with  his  sad  face  and  silver  hair,  and  his  beautiful  eyes 
that  loved  and  trusted  her  so !  Never,  never !  They 
might  take  her  child — they  might  torture  and  burn  her ; 
but  never  would  she  desert  him  ! 

The  inner  door  of  the  room  opened  ;  a  stream  of  light 
came  flickering  through,  and  in  the  doorway  stood  the 
nurse  with  the  child  in  her  arms. 

The  mistress  rose. 

"  Bring  him  here,"  she  said;  "  then,  Annie,  light  the 
lamps." 

Ah,  how  close  she  held  the  little  one !  In  six  weeks 
he  would  be  a  year  old ;  in  six  weeks  he  would  be  gone ! 
How  empty  her  arms  would  be — and  her  heart  ? 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  It  will  wring  in  my  heart  and  my  ears  till  I  die,  till  I  die." 

THE  words  haunted  her.  The  cry  that  had  broken 
from  her  in  her  agony  followed  her  day  and  night ;  she 
lived  in  a  feverish  dream — an  awful  nightmare  !  She  had 
called  on  God  !  If  there  was  a  God,  if  there  was  a  here- 
after, if  her  father  could  listen  and  hear,  this  God  would 
think  she  believed — her  father  would  think  she  had  de- 
serted him  !  She  would  raise  her  hands  to  heaven  as  in 
defiance.  "  I  do  not  believe — I  will  not  believe.  There 
is  no  God  ! " 


THE   FELMERES.  325 

The  days  slipped  by ;  soon  all  would  be  gone — her 
child — her  life !  Maybe  she  would  die ;  ah,  it  was  a 
blessed  hope ! 

But  outwardly  she  was  calm ;  she  stitched  morn  and 
noon ;  the  little  piles  of  clothes  grew  high  and  higher ; 
the  time  grew  shorter ;  her  haste  increased,  and  still  no 
tears  came ! 

Philip  had  come  almost  to  think  with  his  mother, 
that  Helen  did  not  want  the  child,  for  she  was  so  calm 
as  the  time  drew  nearer.  But  not  so  Arthur.  He  had 
had  one  glimpse  into  that  poor,  wild  heart,  and  the  sight 
had  almost  terrified  him ;  what  would  come  of  it  ? 

One  day  she  stopped  him  on  the  stairway.  "  Come 
here  one  moment,  Arthur,"  she  said ;  "  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you — a  favor  to  ask."  And  she  led  him  into 
her  room  and  closed  the  door.  She  leaned  with  her  back 
against  it,  and  he  stood  facing  her.  He  watched  her 
white  hands,  grown  so  thin  and  n'ervous,  twist  and  un- 
twist themselves ;  he  watched  the  expression  change  upon 
her  face  until  it  seemed  to  him  a  mask  had  fallen  off. 
She  seemed  unconscious  of  his  presence — she  seemed 
unable  to  speak.  At  last  she  looked  at  him,  saying 
slowly: 

"  Arthur,  I  dare  say  you  know  more  of  what  I  am 
about  to  speak  than  I  do.  I  do  not,  in  fact,  know  any- 
thing, but  I  think  they  are  going  to  take  my  child  from 
me.  I  can  not  help  myself ;  for,  besides  knowing  that 
the  law  will  give  him  to  Philip,  I  feel  that  it  is  for  the 
child's  good  that  I  should  leave  him.  But  I  shall  not 
enter  into  these  reasons;  it  is  not  necessary.  I  have 
brought  you  here  to  ask  you  if  you  will  act  as  godfather 
to  my  child?  Will  you  be  good  to  him,  Arthur,  and 


326  THE   FELMERES. 

watch  him  for  me  ?  You  know  the  world ;  you  know 
your  sister  and  Philip ;  you  know  what  that  child  will 
have  to  contend  against !  And,  Arthur,,  if  I  live,  will 
you  sometimes  write  to  me  about  him,  and  tell  me  how 
he  looks  and  how  he  is  ?  Am  I  asking  too  much,  Ar- 
thur?" 

Arthur  shook  his  head.  Man  of  the  world  as  he  was, 
the  tears  were  strangely  near  at  hand,  and  his  voice 
seemed  hard  to  find. 

"  I  promise  you,  Helen,  to  do  all  in  my  power  for 
your  child.  I  will  watch  over  him  and  guard  him  to  the 
utmost  of  my  ability,  and  from  me  he  shall  know  you  for 
what  you  are ! " 

She  shook  her  head  hopelessly. 

"  It  does  not  matter  much  what  he  thinks  of  me," 
she  said,  "  for  to  him  I  can  only  be  a  lost  soul !  But  you 
will  write  to  me  ? " 

"  I  will."  Arthur  felt  almost  dazed  ;  her  last  speech 
had  opened  so  much  to  him  that  he  had  not  thought  of 
before ! 

She  went  on : 

"  Do  you  go  to  Europe  with  them  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  I  shall  write  you  at  every  stage.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  do  it." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  holding  out  her  two 
hands — "  thank  you  very  much,  Arthur.  It  would  not 
be  any  use  for  me  to  say  '  God  bless  you ' ;  but  if  there 
is  a  God,  I  hope  He  will  bless  you  for  all  your  kindness 
to  me,  and  now  to  my  child.  You  have  been  very  good 
to  me,  Arthur ;  and  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy,  and 
that  some  day  you  will  be  repaid." 

Then  she  opened  the  door,  and  Arthur,  scarcely  know- 


THE   FELMERES.  327 

ing  why  or  how,  went  down  stairs  and  out  of  the  front 
door  as  in  a  dream.  Poor  creature  !  was  there  no  help 
for  her  ? 

A  few  days  after  this  interview  Mrs.  Felmere  asked 
Helen  if  she  had  yet  decided  on  the  godfathers  for  the 
child,  and  on  his  name. 

"  I  have  asked  Arthur  to  be  one,"  Helen  answered, 
"  and  I  hope  Mr.  Heath  will  be  the  other ;  but  about  the 
name  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind." 

Mrs.  Felmere  was  frowning. 

"Who  is  this  Mr.  Heath?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  is  my  friend,"  Helen  answered,  "  and  will  be 
baby's  godfather,  I  hope." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments ;  then  Mrs.  Fel- 
mere spoke. 

"  And  when  is  the  baptism  to  take  place  \ "  she 
asked. 

"  On  what  day  shall  you  sail  ?  "  was  the  counter-ques- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Felmere  answered  deliberately,  watching  the 
face  before  her  as  she  spoke  : 

"  On  the  first  day  of  May." 

"  On  the  morning  of  that  day,  then,  he  shall  be  bap- 
tized." The  voice  and  answer  were  disappointingly 
calm. 

That  afternoon,  as  Mr.  Heath  sat  preparing  his  ser- 
mon, the  slatternly  housemaid  brought  him  a  note,  say- 
ing the  messenger  was  waiting  for  an  answer.  He  took 
it  from  her,  and,  seeing  through  the  window  that  a  ser- 
vant waited  outside,  he  sent  the  girl  away,  saying  he 
would  give  the  answer  himself.  When  the  door  had 
closed  behind  her  he  tore  open  the  envelope. 


328  THE  FELMERES. 

"  ME.  HEATH  :  If  you  will  be  at  home  to-morrow  at 
twelve,  I  shall  be  glad  to  come  and  see  you.  I  wish  to 
ask  you  something  for  my  child. 

"HELEN  FELMEKE." 

He  put  the  note  down  slowly  as  one  in  a  dream. 
"  Helen  Felmere  !  "  He  looked  at  the  name  as  though 
it  were  a  ghost,  and  pushed  it  from  him  !  It  was  doubt- 
less from  his  unknown  visitor ;  but  was  that  beautiful, 
rich  woman  Helen  Felmere  ?  Then  he  remembered  it 
was  her  marriage  name ;  she  might  have  been  Helen 
Brown  or  Smith  before  that. 

He  turned  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  once 
or  twice.  There  were  Felmeres  in  the  city,  he  knew ; 
he  had  seen  them  more  than  once — a  mother  and  son ; 
and  this  must  be  the  son's  wife.  But  the  sudden  sight 
of  the  name  had  given  him  quite  a  shock.  He  stopped  ; 
he  would  answer  the  note  first,  and  think  it  out  after- 
ward. 

"  MKS.  FELMEKE  :  I  shall  be  at  home  to-morrow  at 
the  hour  named,  and  will  gladly  do  anything  in  my 
power  to  help  you. 

"  Yery  truly, 

"  PEKCIVAL  HEATH." 

He  handed  the  note  to  the  servant,  then  returned  to 
his  cogitations. 

"  Helen  Felmere  ?  She  must  be  Philip  Felmere's 
wife."  He  stopped  still  in  his  walk.  "  She  said  she 
had  married  her  cousin  !  " — he  put  his  hands  over  his  face 
— "  and  had  been  educated  an  unbeliever  by  her  father ! " 


THE   FELMERES.  329 

For  a  long  while  he  stood  thus  ;  he  did  not  move,  he 
seemed  scarcely  to  breathe.  One  or  two  knocks  came  at 
his  door  and  went  away  unanswered;  still  he  stood 
there.  At  last  there  was  a  sound — a  little  whisper: 
"  Mother,  mother,  you  were  wrong  !  "  It  was  only  a 
whisper,  but  the  concentrated  sorrow  in  those  words  was 
inexpressible ! 

Again  the  beautiful  woman  stood  within  the  dingy 
room,  and  the  man  there  waiting  for  her  looked  on  her 
with  different  eyes.  She  sat  down  wearily,  and  her  face 
looked  worn  and  thin  and  her  eyes  were  unnaturally 
bright. 

"  I  have  come,"  she  began  abruptly,  "  to  ask  a  favor 
at  your  hands,  and  you  must  not  hesitate  to  refuse  me 
if  you  think  best  to  do  so  ;  will  you  promise  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  that  you  will  be  one  of  my  child's  godparents 
— more  than  that — his  friend.  He  will  live  here  near 
you ;  I  shall  go  away  to  my  old  home.  I  am  afraid  it 
will  not  be  a  pleasant  position  for  you,  but  I  have  a  wish 
that  you  should  take  it." 

"  And  I  will  take  it." 

"  Thank  you."  Then  she  paused  a  moment  before 
she  went  on,  and  her  voice  was  lower,  as  though  she 
was  more  carefully  weighing  her  words  :  "  And  will  you 
make  him  an  undoubting  Christian  ?  If  one  is  brought 
up  to  it,  he  can  believe  it  all ;  and  if  one  can  believe  it 
all,  it  is,  I  think,  the  happiest  state.  Either  that,  or 
where  my  father  stood,  an  undoubting  unbeliever." 

"  And  you  think  it  easier  to  be  an  undoubting  Chris- 
tian than  an  undoubting  unbeliever  ? "  Mr.  Heath  asked. 


330  THE   FELMERES. 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  all  the  world  believes,  and  it  is  hard  to 
stand  out  against  it." 

Mr.  Heath  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  compelled  to  differ  with  you  on 
this  point,"  he  said.  "  All  the  world  does  not  believe. 
On  the  contrary,  unbelief  is  quite  popular.  One  only 
needs  to  say,  '  I  am  not  quite  sound,  I  lean  rather  to  the 
scientific  side  than  to  the  religious,'  to  be  considered  well 
educated  and  of  high  mental  attainments.  To  me  it  is 
pitiful !  If  you  wish  your  son  to  be  well  considered  in 
the  fashionable  world,  let  him  be  educated  an  unbeliever ; 
for  this  thing  is  growing,  and  by  the  time  he  is  a  man 
will,  I  am  afraid,  have  firm  hold  of  this  country.  Then 
it  will  be  easier  to  be  an  unbeliever  than  a  Christian, 
perhaps." 

His  listener  looked  at  him  wistfully  as  she  asked  : 

"  Do  you  not  wish  my  child  to  be  a  Christian,  that 
you  so  often,  in  a  manner,  dissuade  me  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  do  wish  your  child  to  be  a  Christian, 
Mrs.  Felmere,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  get  him  under  any 
false  pretenses.  If  you  are  going  to  make  him  a  Chris- 
tian solely  for  his  present  comfort,  I  must  tell  you  I 
think  unbelief  more  immediately  comfortable,  especially 
for  a  rich  man  of  the  world.  The  life  of  a  Christian  is 
by  no  means  an  easy,  even  flow  of  happiness.  There  are 
many  pleasant  things  you  have  to  give  up,  many  tempta- 
tions you  have  to  withstand,  many  trials  you  have  to  bear 
patiently  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake  "  (there  was  a  reverent 
bow  with  his  last  words)  ;  "  so"  that  you  must  not  make 
the  mistake  of  thinking  your  son  will  have  no  trouble." 


THE  FELMERES.  331 

Helen  listened  intently  and  watched  him  closely,  and 
the  reverence  that  came  so  naturally  as  he  mentioned  the 
holy  name  impressed  her :  it  was  so  different  from  Mr. 
Tol  man's  patronizing  manner ;  it  seemed  so  honestly 
done — an  almost  involuntary  humbling  of  himself.  Then 
she  said : 

"But  when  all  this  is  over,  you  have  your  re- 
ward ? " 

"  ISTot  if  you  do  it  from  that  motive — certainly  not," 
he  answered  quickly.  "  You  must  ever  act  from  a  high- 
er motive  than  self-interest — from  the  love  of  the  true 
and  the  good — from  the  love  of  God.  In  fact,  I  do  not 
believe  that  one  can  be  a  true  Christian  from  hope  of 
reward  or  fear  of  punishment  alone ;  for  the  essence  of 
Christianity  is  love ;  and  this  not  love  of  self,  as  acting 
for  a  reward  would  imply,  but  love  to  God.  I  think  it 
wrong  to  teach  Christianity  as  a  system  of  rewards  and 
punishments." 

"And  yet,"  Helen  said,  "it  was  not  so  very  long 
ago  that  you  told  me  the  moral  universe  was  governed 
by  laws,  as  the  physical  universe  is ;  and  as  certain  re- 
sults followed  certain  actions  in  the  physical  world,  so  in 
the  moral.  Is  that  not  law  ?  is  that  not  a  system  of  re- 
wards and  punishments  ? " 

"  I  grant  all  that,"  Mr.  Heath  answered ;  "  and  those 
intuitions  of  right,  and  wrong  that  were  created  with 
us,  or  were  given  to  us  in  the  last  stages  of  develop- 
ment from  brute  to  man — you  may  put  it  as  you  please — 
are  the  laws  of  the  moral  universe.  If  we  do  right, 
good  will  result ;  and  if  we  do  wrong,  evil.  These  laws 
have  existed  ever  since  man  stood  upright  facing  his 
Maker;  But  Christianity  comes  under  a  higher  dispen- 


332  THE   FELMERES. 

sation,  and  the  key-note  of  it  is,  '  If  ye  love  me,  ye  will 
keep  my  commandments' ;  a  higher  revelation  that  says, 
'  Love  your  enemies,  bless  them  that  curse  you,  do  good 
to  them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  which  despite- 
fully  use  you  and  persecute  you.'  Are  these  intuitions  ? 
Do  these  laws  naturally  govern  the  moral  universe  ?  I 
think  not.  We  seem  to  have  by  nature  only  a  sense  of 
justice — more  especially  to  ourselves — and  a  sense  of 
truth.  Charity  and  mercy  come  in  with  Jesus  Christ." 

Again  Helen  saw  the  humble  little  reverence  follow 
the  holy  name,  and  she  felt  as  though  compelled  to  wait 
a  moment  before  she  could  speak.  This  man  seemed  to 
feel  that  some  other  presence  was  there,  as  though  Christ 
himself  stood  beside  him,  and  his  feeling  impressed  her. 
At  last  she  said  : 

"  But  your  Christ  surely  teaches  reward  and  punish- 
ment ?  I  have  read  the  New  Testament  often,  and  all 
through  I  found  this  system." 

"And  so  any  one  must,"  Mr.  Heath  answered;  "for 
Christ  came  under  the  law,  and  fulfilled  it  in  every  par- 
ticular. And  so  do  our  rewards  and  punishments  come 
under  that  same  law.  But  Christ's  teachings  are  all 
love:  there  is  a  fullness  of  joy  and  a  happiness  that 
comes  in  proportion  to  our  love  and  faith  in  Jesus  Christ, 
that  is  over  and  above  the  cold  just  reward  of  keeping 
the  law — a  wonderful  beauty  and  gentleness  that  was 
never  known  before." 

"  But  are  you  not  punished  for  not  believing  in  Jesus 
Christ  ?  "  she  went  on. 

""Why,  Christianity  is  Christ.  Our  belief  is  this, 
that  the  Eternal  Son  of  the  Eternal  Father  took  our 
humanity  into  his  divine  nature,  so  that  two  perfect  na- 


THE   FELMERES.  333 

tures,  the  human  and  divine,  coexist  in  the  one  diivne 
person.  As  all  men  were  in  Adam,  so  the  Son  of  God 
has  taken  the  whole  of  our  essential  humanity  into  Him- 
self. Thus  he  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  man,  but  the 
man.  As  any  individual  man  was  essentially  in  Adam 
from  the  beginning,  and  yet  had  to  be  actually  born  into 
the  world,  so  each  of  us,  being  essentially  in  Christ,  has 
yet  to  be  born  into  Him  by  the  sacrament  of  Holy  Bap- 
tism. And  as,  after  we  are  born  into  the  natural  world, 
food  and  other  things  are  needed  to  sustain  our  new  life, 
so,  when  we  are  regenerated  or  born  spiritually  into 
Christ,  He  has  provided  spiritual  sustenance  for  this  new 
life  in  Him — chiefly  in  the  mystical  food  of  His  Body 
and  Blood,  tfys  Sacrament  of  the  Altar.  Now  the  salva- 
tion of  man  is  the  object  in  all  this ;  but  it  is  salvation 
from  sin,  and  not  merely  from  the  penalties  of  sin  in 
the  future.  You  will  see,  then,  how  necessary  it  is  to 
accept  Christ  and  to  do  His  will  if  we  would  have  the 
salvation  He  has  provided  ;  and  how  meager  and  wrong 
it  would  be  to  say  we  are  punished  for  not  believing  in 
Christ." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  slowly ;  then  asked,  "  Are 
these  your  own  original  views  ?" 

"  No,  by  no  means.  I  have  only  given  you  what  has 
always  been  held  by  the  one  Holy  Catholic  and  Apos- 
tolic Church."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  added  more 
slowly  and  gently.  "  As  I  have  told  you,  the  key-note  of 
Christianity  is  love,  not  fear.  The  blessed  Master  is  all 
love.  There  is  no  heart  so  humble,  so  ignorant,  so  sin- 
stricken,  that  He  will  not  receive  if  it  comes  to  Him ; 
nor  is  there  any  heart  that  will  not  be  able  to  love  Him 
if  it  has  any  desire  for  purity  and  truth." 


334:  THE   FELMERES. 

"  But  what  has  made  you  think  this  is  the  Christ  ? 
The  Jews  do  not  believe  in  him." 

"  Because  He  is  the  only  one  who  has  ever  fulfilled 
the  law,  thus  making  His  life  the  most  perfect,  pure,  and 
holy  life  that  has  ever  been  lived.  You  may  not  believe 
the  prophecies,  or  not  believe  that  they  point  to  Christ ; 
but  you  must  believe  in  the  pure  and  glorious  beauty  of 
His  life ;  and  holding  this,  you  must  accept  the  miracles, 
or  believe  Him  an  impostor ;  and  in  accepting  the  mira- 
cles you  must  look  on  Him  as  divine." 

"  And  do  you  accept  the  miracles,  and  the  Incarna- 
tion, and  the  Resurrection,  and  the  Trinity  ?  Do  you 
really  believe  them  as  you  believe  this  is  a  table  ? " 

"  I  do." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  It  is  strange,"  she  said,  "  and  it  strikes  me  more 
forcibly  in  you  than  in  any  other  Christian  I  have  ever 
met.  Out  in  the  world  where  I  live,  they  say  they  be- 
lieve all  these  things,  but  I  can  not  think  they  really  do ; 
for  it  seems  to  me  that  there  are  few  of  them  who  ever 
give  a  thought  to  these  subjects,  and  less  than  few  who 
can  give  a  '  reason  for  the  hope  that  is  in  them.'  But  I 
really  think  you  earnestly  believe,  and  it  seems  so  strange 
that  you  can" 

Mr.  Heath  smiled  sadly. 

"  And  yet,"  he  answered,  "  your  belief  seems  quite 
as  strange  to  me — much  more  so,  in  fact." 

She  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"  You  surprise  me,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  it  was 
my  lack  of  belief  that  was  strange ;  for  what  I  believe  is 
perfectly  reasonable  and  logical ;  there  is  nothing  strange 
in  it." 


THE  FELMERES.  335 

"  Is  it  not  strange,"  Mr.  Heath  asked,  "  that  from  a 
blind,  unintelligent  Force  should  be  evolved  the  marvel- 
ous intellects  that  guide  the  nations,  and  the  high  and 
beautiful  moral  laws  that  lift  us  above  the  brutes  that 
perish  and  the  worms  that  crawl  ?  Is  it  not  rather  a  new 
and  strange  idea  to  have  more  in  the  effect  than  there 
was  in  the  cause  f  " 

She  listened  thoughtfully,  and  answered  slowly : 
"  We  get  all  that  through  association  of  ideas." 
"  The  first  idea  must  have  come  from  something." 
"  Yery  well ;  and  that  first  idea  was  evolved  and  de- 
veloped slowly." 

"  And  there  must  have  been  some  germ  in  the  ori- 
ginal Force  from  which  it  was  developed  :  everything 
begins  from  something.  Admit  the  germ,  or  admit  that 
there  was  a  fresh  creation  of  intellectual  and  moral  pow- 
ers which  were  added  to  this  Force.  In  this  case  there 
was  something  greater  behind  Force — something  moral 
and  intelligent.  I  will  call  it  God ;  you  may  call  it  what 
you  please.  If  not  this  special  creation,  then  these  germs 
of  morality  and  intelligence  were  contained  in  this  Force 
— I  grant  this  also ;  and  this  blind  Force  becoming  moral 
and  intelligent,  I  call  it  God." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  evolution  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  I  shall  if  it  is  scientifically  proved.  There  are  some 
alarming  gaps  in  the  theory  now,  but  if  proved  I  shall 
not  object  to  it.  To  me  it  would  be  a  beautiful  mani- 
festation of  the  wonderfulness  of  the  Intelligence  that 
governs  us.  But  with  evolution  I  must  also  believe  that 
at  some  period  during  these  transitions  there  was  a  moral 
sense  put  into  man  that  the  brutes  have  not — a  time  when 
there  was  breathed  into  him  the  *  breath  of  life.'  " 


336  THE  FELMERES. 

"  And  do  you  hold  spontaneous  generation  ? "  she 
went  on. 

"  I  shall  hold  it  also,  if  it  is  proved,  and  shall  be  no 
less  a  Christian ;  for  my  foundation  is  sure." 

"  Tell  me  your  foundation." 

"  My  foundation  lies  bedded  in  myself.  I  know  I  am 
moral  and  intelligent ;  I  see  about  me  thousands  who  are 
also  moral  and  intelligent ;  I  know  that  the  sum  of  all 
morality  and  all  intelligence  must  have  been  contained 
in  that  from  which  it  was  developed ;  and  that  contain- 
ing substance — be  it  what  you  please — is  to  me  God. 
For  what  greater  can  I  conceive  than  that  which  con- 
tains all  intelligence  and  all  morality  ? " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  when  he  ceased ;  then 
she  said : 

"  And  yet  you  say  you  believe  that  unbelief  will  lay 
hold  on  this  whole  country.  Unless  there  is  truth  in  it, 
why  be  afraid  ? " 

"  That  is  the  trouble,"  he  answered.  "  There  is  so 
much  truth  in  it  that  the  majority,  for  the  sake  of  this 
truth,  will  accept  it  all  and  look  no  further." 

"  But  you,"  she  said,  "  discriminate,  as  far  as  I  can 
judge :  why  should  not  they  ?  " 

"  Because  very  few  have  the  time  to  devote  to  inves- 
tigation, even  if  they  were  fitted  to  make  the  exami- 
nation. More  than  this,  many  would  rather  believe  it 
because  it  is  new,  and  Christianity  is  old  ;  others  are  car- 
ried away  by  the  beauty  of  the  scientific  investigations  ; 
others  will  follow  for  the  fashion,  and  yet  others  for  the 
reason  and  common  sense  they  claim  to  find  there.  But 
the  strongest  weapons  in  your  hands  we  have  put  there. 
Our  churchmen,  through  ignorance  of  the  scientific  side 


THE   FELMERES.  337 

of  the  question,  and  through  devotion  to  the  old  theo- 
logical grooves  and  ruts,  are  not  meeting  the  question 
rightly.  They  attempt  to  ridicule  it,  or  attack  it  angrily. 
I  :an  not  think  these  the  proper  modes  of  refuting  it,  or 
of  doing  anything  but  injure  ourselves.  It  is  far  above 
ridicule,  and  to  rush  against  it  furiously  only  convinces 
people  that  there  must  be  a  great  deal  in  it  to  cause  so 
much  anger.  To  me  it  would  seem  wiser  to  meet  it 
quietly  and  examine  it  thoroughly,  carefully  sifting  out 
the  truth  and  accepting  it,  and  proving  the  false  for  what 
it  is.  I  am  not  afraid  of  any  truth  being  found  anywhere 
that  will  overthrow  my  belief.  I  do  not,  therefore,  hesi- 
tate to  examine  closely." 

"  Have  you  ever  doubted  ? "  she  asked. 

"  JSTo ;  but  through  peculiar  circumstances  I  was  led 
to  examine,  not  only  unbelief,  but  the  creeds  of  the  three 
great  branches  of  the  Church." 

Then  his  words  came  more  slowly,  and  his  voice  was 
lower  as  he  said,  "  My  father  also  was  an  unbeliever." 

Helen  looked  up  quickly,  drawing  a  sharp,  short  breath 
of  astonishment. 

"  Did  he  die  an  unbeliever  ? "  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence :  how  strange  this  was ! 

"  You  were  not  educated  an  unbeliever  ? "  she  went 
on. 

"  No ;  I  was  brought  up  a  Romanist." 

A  feeling  of  bewilderment  was  creeping  over  her. 
What  was  all  this  leading  to  ?  "Whom  was  she  talking 
with  ?  Again  she  spoke : 

"  How,  then,  are  you  an  Anglican  ? " 

"  The  Romish  Church,  or  rather  a  mistaken  priest, 
15 


338  THE  FELMERES. 

made  my  mother  commit  a  great  wrong,"  lie  answered 
slowly,  "  and  I  could  no  longer  tolerate  or  trust  its  teach- 
ings. It  was  a  bitter  trial  to  forsake  the  religion  of  my 
mother,  but  truth  compelled  me  to." 

Helon  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  She  could 
not  collect  her  thoughts ;  she  seemed  groping  with  the 
light  shining  all  about  her  !  At  last  she  put  her  hands 
down  and  looked  at  him. 

"  I  feel  so  bewildered,"  she  said ;  "  I  have  had  so 
much  of  late  to  trouble  me,  that  I  do  not  think  my  mind 
is  quite  clear;  so  tell  me  plainly,  is  there  anything  be- 
hind all  this  that  you  wish  me  to  know  ?  " 

"  Only  this,"  he  answered,  laying  his  hand  on  hers — 
"that  in  your  trouble  God  has  guided  you  not  to  a 
stranger,  but  to  your  brother,  for  help ! " 

She  looked  as  though  she  did  not  quite  understand 
him. 

"  Tour  name  is  Heath  ? " 

"  That  is  my  name,"  he  answered — "  the  maiden  name 
of  my  mother,  which  she  took  again  after  she  left  her 
husband.  I  was  baptized  Percival  Heath  Felmere,  and 
also  by  that  name  ordained ;  but  I  am  always  called 
Heath.  Will  you  not  believe  me  ?  Wait,  I  will  bring 
you  proof  "  ;  and  he  left  her  quickly. 

She  did  not  move ;  she  could  not  think  connectedly ; 
she  only  wondered  in  a  dull  stupid  manner.  She  had 
known  there  was  some  strange  tie  between  her  and  this 
man  from  the  first  moment  she  looked  at  him  ;  she  had 
seen  and  felt  something  in  him  that  seemed  hers;  he 
looked  like  her  father,  and  like  the  picture  of  her  grand- 
father— he  was  the  image  of  that.  It  seemed  to  her  now 
that  she  could  have  told  him  this  long  ago  if  she  had  not 


THE  FELMERES.  339 

been  so  worried  and  troubled  about  her  child  !  How  un- 
necessary in  him  to  bring  proof  to  her !  His  voice  was 
enough ;  sometimes  it  had  seemed  as  though  her  father 
was  speaking  to  her ;  this  she  had  observed  long  ago. 
She  wished  he  would  come,  she  was  so  tired  of  waiting, 
and  she  needed  no  proof.  He  was  not  very  long  gone, 
although  it  seemed  so  to  her.  He  brought  with  him  twTo 
miniatures  and  a  package  of  letters. 

"  I  know  yon  are  my  brother,"  she  said,  looking  up  at 
him  as  he  stood  beside  her ;  "  I  could  have  told  it  to"  you 
long  ago — long  ago — if  I  had  not  been  so  tormented. 
Your  voice  is  like  our  father's,  and  you  look  like  a  picture 
I  have  of  our  grandfather.  Oh,  I  am  so  glad — so  glad ! " 
She  took  his  hand  and  looked  at  it.  "  My  own  flesh  and 
blood  ! — a  hand  I  have  a  right  to — a  hand  that  I  can  love 
and  call  mine.  Oh,  I  have  been  so  lonely,  and  now  I 
have  a  brother  !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  looking  down  on  her  sadly,  "  a 
brother  who  is  all  yours,  who  will  devote  his  life  to  you 
— who  will  love  you  as  sister  has  never  been  loved  before. 
All  my  life  I  have  thought  of  you  and  loved  you ;  all 
my  life  I  have  longed  to  go  to  you,  for  I  was  so  afraid  for 
you !  And  now  I  have  found  you ;  and  oh,  my  sister, 
you  will  not  make  me  look  on  you  as  worse  than  lost ; 
you  will  not  put  that  awful  gulf  of  unbelief  between 
us?" 

She  raised  her  hand  imploringly. 

"  Hush ;  do  not  mention  that  yet.  Leave  me  my  joy 
for  a  little  while  undimmed ;  let  me  forget  all  differences, 
for  I  can  never  do  away  with  them ! "  She  turned  from 
him,  and  took  up  one  of  the  pictures  he  had  laid  down. 

"  Is  this  my  mother?  " 


340  THE   FELMERES. 

"  Yes ;  and  you  somewhat  recall  her  to  me ;  your  face 
has  haunted  me  ever  since  I  saw  you  on  the  cliff.  I  first 
thought  it  was  your  great  beauty,  but  now  I  know  it  was 
this  dim  resemblance  to  our  mother." 

It  was  a  sweet,  sad  face  she  looked  at,  with  a  shadowy, 
colorless  beauty  about  it,  that  seemed  to  fade  away  on 
closer  examination,  and  a  mingled  expression  of  strength 
and  weakness  that  was  remarkable. 

"  Did  she  ever  speak  of  me  ? "  Helen  asked,  as  she 
looked  at  the  picture. 

"  Often  and  often.  The  thought  of  having  left  you 
seemed  to  haunt  her  day  and  night,  and  all  my  childhood 
was  filled  with  descriptions  of  you  and  charges  about  you. 
For  a  long  time  she  thought  of  you  as  dead ;  then  she 
heard  from  a  priest  who  lived  near  Felmere  that  you  were 
alive  and  well,  and  the  longing  to  see  you  nearly  broke 
her  heart.  In  her  last  illness  I  begged  her  to  let  me  go 
for  you,  but  she  would  not." 

"  Poor  mother,  to  have  to  leave  her  child ! "  Sud- 
denly she  closed  the  picture  sharply,  and  put  it  down. 
"She  did  a  great  wrong,"  she  went  on  bitterly,  look- 
ing up  at  her  brother ;  "  she  brought  all  this  sorrow 
on  us ;  and,  if  you  are  right,  she  left  me  to  eternal  dam- 
nation ! " 

Quickly  her  brother's  hand  was  laid  on  her  lips. 

"  It  was  wrong,"  he  said,  "  but  you  must  not  say  so  ! 
And  now  the  matter  of  your  salvation  lies  in  your  own 
hands.  Your  trials  have  come  to  you  in  such  wise  as  to 
make  you  look  into  these  things,  and  you  can  now  choose 
for  yourself." 

She  shook  her  head  wearily.  "It  is  too  late,"  she 
said — "  too  late  to  turn  back  from  the  choice  I  made  long 


THE   FELMERES.  341 

ago — from  the  vow  I  took  in  my  youth !  Faith  has  never 
been  cultivated  in  me ;  all  my  training  has  been  against 
it.  I  can  not  believe — I  can  not  leave  my  father ! "  She 
rose  and  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  then  back 
again,  and  stood  before  him.  "  You  never  knew  him, 
you  never  loved  him,  or  you  could  not  quietly  stand  here 
and  say  to  me,  '  He  will  suffer  eternal  punishment.'  I 
will  not  believe  it,  nor  any  religion  that  teaches  it !  The 
other  day  in  my  agony  I  cried  out,  '  O  God  ! '  and  ever 
since  I  have  been  haunted  with  a  mortal  terror.  Ever 
since  I  have  been  afraid  there  was  a  God,  and  that  He 
heard  and  believed  me.  Ever  since  I  have  been  afraid 
there  was  a  hereafter,  and  that  my  father  thinks  I  have 
deserted  him  !  I  tell  you  it  has  ever  since  been  an  awful 
horror  following  me !  I  do  not  believe,  and  I  will  not 
believe.  I  know  there  is  no  God  !  "  Her  voice  was  low 
and  tense  with  excitement,  and  at  the  last  she  raised  her 
hands  up  solemnly  as  though  taking  an  oath  against  her 
brother's  God. 

He  sat  quite  still,  feeling  almost  at  peace  when  he 
thought  she  had  called  on  God — that  to  this  extent  she 
had  acknowledged  Him.  God  was  merciful,  and  God 
would  judge  her  according  to  her  light ! 

She  stood  looking  in  his  face  with  eyes  full  of  defiance. 
"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  ? "  she  asked  at  last.  "  Do  you 
not  try  to  persuade  me  that  this  is  a  morbid  imagination ; 
that  I  am  over-excited ;  that  I  am  under  an  unnatural 
strain,  and  my  nerves  are  giving  way  ?  I  know  all  this ; 
I  have  said  it  over  and  over  again ;  but  that  does  not  les- 
sen the  clinging  horror  that  is  about  me,  and  it  can  not 
lessen  the  knowledge  this  horror  has  brought  to  me,  that 
even  in  your  heaven,  your  eternal  progression  from  your- 


242  THE  FELMERES. 

self  to  God,  this  feeling  .would  drag  me  down  with  a 
more  terrible  anguish  of  remorse  than  you  can  imagine — 
a  remorse  for  leaving  my  father  !  Ah,  you  never  knew 
him ;  you  never  saw  his  beautiful,  strong  face ;  you  never 
saw  the  trust  in  his  dear  eyes  when  he  looked  on  me ;  you 
never  heard  him  say  '  My  darling,'  nor  felt  his  soft  trem- 
ulous hand  wandering  about  your  brow  and  hair — never ! 
And  you  ask  me  to  desert  him  ? " 

She  turned  away,  and  Percival  still  said  nothing ;  he 
could  not  say  anything,  for  his  sympathy  ah1  went  with 
this  poor  torn  human  heart,  this  strong  soul,  so  true  and 
loyal  to  the  teachings  and  love  of  its  youth — to  its  oath 
made  in  ignorance  !  He  watched  her  as  she  stood  lean- 
ing on  the  table,  and  loved  her  with  a  pitying  love  that 
was  absolute  pain.  "What  should  he  do  ?  How  could  he 
help  her  ? 

Presently  she  turned.  "  Can  you  not  help  me  ? "  she 
asked.  "  Can  you  not  tell  me  that  your  God  did  not  hear 
me  ?  or  that,  if  He  did,  He  believes  that  I  honestly  defy 
Him  ?  Tell  me  something — help  me  in  some  way !  You 
are  my  brother,  and  you  said  you  loved  me." 
•  "  And  I  do,"  he  answered,  as  he  came  and  stood  beside 
her — "  I  do  with  all  my  heart  love  you ;  but  how  can  I 
help  you  ?  I  believe  there  is  a  God,  and  I  believe  He 
heard  you.  If  you  do  honestly  defy  Him,  He.  will  know 
it ;  if  your  defiance  is  not  honest,  He  is  merciful !  " 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  silence,  as  though 
striving  to  calm  herself. 

"  You  are  so  good,"  she  said,  laying  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  "  and  so  true ;  in  my  deepest  anguish  you  never 
mitigate  the  truth.  It  is  so  like  our  father,  and  I  love 
you  for  it.  And  now  I  tell  you  I  am  right  in  giving  up 


THE   FELMERES.  343 

my  child.  I  would  do  a  great  deal  more  than  give  him 
up,  if  that  were  possible,  to  save  him  from  what  I  suffer 
now !  And  to  you  I  leave  him,  to  protect  him  and  to 
care  for  him ;  for  I  do  not  think  I  can  live  very  long — I 
hope  I  shall  not.  But -one  thing  I  charge  you :  never  let 
him  suffer  for  me  as  I  suffer  for  my  father ;  never  let  him 
be  able  to  say,  as  I  say  now,  '  This  suffering  is  my  mother's 
fault.'  Promise  me  this." 

"  I  promise  that  this  shall  be  my  endeavor,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Thank  you  1 "  There  was  a  world  of  earnestness  in 
her  tones.  Then  she  went  on :  "  And  now  I  must  go ; 
it  is  late.  But  to-morrow  you  must  come  to  me ;  you 
must  come  and  see  my  child ;  you  must  come  and  let  me 
learn  to  love  you  more  and  more — let  me  learn  to  real- 
ize this  one  joy  left  in  my  life,  and  talk  with  you  as  I 
can  not  to-day,  for  I  am  excited  and  weary  !  Will  you 
come  ? " 

"  Without  fail.  You  are  now  my  first  thought  and 
duty,  and,  next  to  God,  you  have  my  dearest  love." 

Then  she  stooped  and  kissed  him  fervently,  hurriedly, 
as  though  she  did  not  dare  trust  herself ;  and  gathering 
up  the  letters  and  the  pictures  he  had  brought  her,  she 
left  him. 

Left  him  standing  alone  in  his  dingy  room,  miserable 
with  a  misery  that  was  hard  to  bear ! 


344  THE   FELMERES. 


CIIAPTEK   IX. 

"Dreamed ;  for  old  things  and  places  came  dancing  about  my  brain, 
Like  ghosts  that  dance  in  an  empty  house ;  and  my  thoughts  went 

slipping  again 

By  green  back-ways  forgotten  to  a  stiller  circle  of  time, 
Where  violets,  faded  for  ever,  seemed  blowing  as  once  in  their 

prime." 

AT  home  in  her  own  room,  Helen  sat  down  and  tried 
to  think  over  the  events  of  the  day,  and  to  look  quietly 
on  the  discovery  she  had  made.  No  one  could  know  how 
glad  she  was ;  no  one  could  appreciate  what  a  relief  it 
was  to  her.  For  now  she  could  feel  that  a  true  loving 
care  wrould  be  about  her  child  when  she  was  gone.  Now 
she  need  not  feel  so  desolate ;  there  was  some  one  in  the 
world  who  loved  her,  and  to  whom  she  had  a  right ;  some 
one  who  would  take  care  of  her,  and  to  whom  she  could 
leave  Felmere  Hall,  and  who  would  love  and  appreciate 
it  almost  as  she  did. 

She  looked  again  at  her  mother's  picture,  and  a  gentler 
feeling  of  sorrow  for  her  mother  came  over  her.  She 
looked  so  weak  and  so  pitiful,  and  yet  had  had  the  strength 
to  leave  her  child,  whom  she  evidently  thought  dying — 
leaving  one  to  save  the  other,  and  finally  losing  both ! 
Poor  mother !  The  other  picture  was  of  her  father  in 
his  earlier  youth — handsome,  but  without  the  beauty  of 
that  perfect  calm  which  she  remembered,  and  without  the 
soft  love  in  his  eyes  she  always  met  there.  .But  both 
pictures  would  prove  Percival's  identity  to  her  husband 


THE   FELMERES.  345 

and  his  mother,  and,  more  than  all,  establish  Percival's 
right  to  love  and  train  her  'child.  They  would  not  like 
it,  she  knew ;  but  this  thought  did  not  in  the  least  trouble 
her;  and,  though  she  looked  on  the  feeling  with  con- 
tempt, yet  a  little  shade  of  triumph  would  creep  up  and 
mingle  with  her  joy — a  feeling  of  triumph  in  that  she 
could  partially  foil  her  aunt's  plans. 

The  bundle  of  papers  proved  to  be  the  marriage  cer- 
tificate of  her  father  and  mother,  Percival's  baptismal 
certificate,  and  two  or  three  letters  from  her  father  to  her 
mother,  written  during  his  last  absence  from  home,  at 
which  time  she  had  left  him. 

Yes,  these  would  be  quite  enough  to  satisfy  them  that 
she  had  found  her  brother,  and  she  would  disclose  the 
fact  at  once.  So,  when  the  summons  came  for  dinner,  she 
took  the  pictures  and  letters  down  with  her,  and  laid 
them  by  the  side  of  her  plate. 

The  conversation  was  never  very  easy  during  dinner, 
and  to-day  Mrs.  Felmere's  curiosity  was  so  excited  by  the 
old  letters  and  pictures  Helen  had  brought  with  her,  that 
she  remained  for  long  intervals  silent.  At  last,  when  the 
servant  had  been  dismissed,  she  turned  to  Helen  saying : 

"Has  Mr.  Heath  consented  to  be  the  baby's  god- 
father?" 

"  Yes,"  Helen  answered ;  "  and  to-day,  in  my  conver- 
sation with  him,  I  have  made  a  discovery  which  renders 
my  choice  of  him  the  happiest  thing  in  the  world— in  fact, 
nothing  short  of  marvelous." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Philip  asked  sharply;  and 
Mrs.  Felmere  was  all  attention. 

"  I  mean  that  I  have  found  in  Mr.  Heath  my  brother 
Percival." 


34:6  THE   FELMERES. 

There  was  an  utter  silence  for  a  few  moments ;  then 
Helen  went  on,  her  voice  and  quick  words  showing  some- 
thing like  triumph  and  much  suppressed  excitement. 

"  These  letters  and  pictures  are  the  proofs ;  you  may 
look  at  them  if  you  please,'7  handing  them  to  Philip,  who 
opened  them  slowly.  "I  shall  leave  him  everything  I 
own  in  trust  for  my  child,  if  not  absolutely.  I  tell  you 
this,  aunt,  as  you  .asked  me  to  whom  I  would  leave  Fel- 
mere.  It  will  now,  with  everything  else  I  own,  go  to  my 
brother.  More  than  this,  I  will  say  that,  unless  my 
brother  has  a  fair  share  in  the  training  of  my  child,  the 
property  I  leave  shall  go  to  some  charitable  institution  at 
his  death.  It  is  all  mine,  you  know,  to  dispose  of  at 
pleasure." 

Mrs.  Felmere  listened  in  silence.  She  wished  to  hear 
Helen's  full  plans ;  and,  besides  this,  her  anger  was  so 
great  she  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  speak.  But, 
when  Helen  finally  paused,  she  said  coldly : 

"  Do  you  intend  to  die  immediately  \  " 

"To  my  child  I  do,"  Helen  answered;  "but  you 
know  this,  and  need  no  answer  to  your  question.  And 
far  better  than  I  can  tell  you  do  you  know  that  ever 
since  my  child's  birth  you  have  been  plotting  and  work- 
ing to  take  him  from  me.  Now  you  have  succeeded.  I 
could  have  driven  you  to  the  law,  but  for  my  child's  sake 
I  have  not;  I  would  rather  he  should  think  of  me  as 
dead.  Beyond  this,  I  think  it  more  for  his  present  hap- 
piness for  him  to  be  trained  a  Christian,  and  if  I  were 
with  him  he  could  not  well  be  so  trained  ;  or,  if  he  were, 
he  would  have  the  bitterness  of  looking  on  me  with  pity 
or  horror ! "  She  paused  a  moment,  then  continued  with 
the  same  strained  self-possession :  "  If  I  believed  in  a 


THE  FELMERES.  347 

future  life,  I  do  not  think  I  could  be  content  to  leave  my 
child  in  your  hands,  aunt ;  for  your  religion  and  your  life 
do  not  seem  to  me  altogether  consistent.  But,  now  that 
I  have  found  my  brother,  I  am  satisfied  even  on  this 
point ;  for  I  feel  sure  my  child  will  be  trained  to  some- 
thing definite  and  consistent." 

She  did  not  let  her  awful  doubts  and  trouble  appear 
on  her  face,  nor  in  any  way  let  them  see  the  depth  of  her 
bitter  unhappiness ;  she  would  rather  they  should  think 
that  the  fear,  for  the  child's  sake,  of  the  disgrace  of  a 
divorce  made  her  give  him.  up. 

"While  she  was  speaking,  Philip  appeared  to  be  read- 
ing the  letters  she  had  given  him,  and  Mrs.  Felmere,  lean- 
ing on  the  table,  listened  with  a  look  of  bitter  anger  on 
her  face. 

"  And  now,"  Helen  continued,  as  she  rose  and  held 
out  her  hand  for  the  letters  and  pictures,  "  I  wish  to  hear 
nothing  more  about  this  thing.  I  have  consented  to  go 
away  and  leave  my  child  entirely,  as  though  I  were  dead ; 
but  consented  on  these  terms — that  his  uncles  Arthur 
and  Percival  shall  exercise  all  my  rights  in  his  education. 
If  this  at  any  time  shall  not  be  allowed,  I  shall  come  back 
if  I  am  alive ;  and,  if  I  am  dead,  you  will  find  this  point 
carefully  covered  in  my  will.  If  his  education  is  such  as 
I  desire,  all  my  property  will  be  his;  otherwise  not. 
And  now,  having  secured  him  as  far  as  I  am  able  an 
honest  training,  I  wish  him  named  Hector.  He  shall  be 
baptized  on  the  day  you  are  to  sail,  and  go  with  you.  I 
shall  go  to  my  own  home,  and  find  what  peace  I  can,  un- 
til death  releases  me." 

So  saying,  she  turned  and  left  the  room. 

No  comment  passed  between  mother  and  son  ;  they 


348  THE  FELMEEES. 

did  not  so  much  as  look  at  one  another.  They  were  tri- 
umphant inasmuch  as  they  had  gained  their  point,  but 
their  victory  was  accompanied  by  unavoidable  and  bit- 
terly humiliating  conditions,  almost  enough  to  rob  tlie 
success  of  all  its  meaning.  They  separated  as  soon  as 
possible  and  in  silence — Philip  to  the  club,  Mrs.  Felmere 
to  her  own  room,  there  to  calm  as  best  she  might  her 
ruffled  feelings. 

Helen,  up  stairs  in  the  nursery,  busied  herself  and  as- 
tonished the  nurse  by  moving  the  child  back  into  her 
own  room. 

"  You  must  not  talk  about  it  among  the  servants," 
she  said  to  Annie,  "  but  I  have  agreed  to  give  up  my 
child  and  let  him  be  trained  a  Christian,  and  next  week 
he  goes  to  Europe  with  his  father  and  grandmother,  and 
I  go  home.  So,  Annie,  you  must  stay  with  him  as  long 
as  you  can,  and  watch  him  for  me.  And  Mr.  Heath, 
Annie,  the  clergyman  of  your  church,  has  turned  out  to 
be  my  brother ;  so  he  will  help  to  take  care  of  my  baby." 

The  girl  stood  mute,  listening  to  the  wonderful  story ! 
Then  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  watched  her  mis- 
tress with  the  child,  and  listened  to  her  pitiful  talk. 

"He  will  be  mine  only  a  week  longer,  Annie,  and 
every  moment  of  that  time  I  want  him  for  my  own.  I 
have  been  trying  to  break  away  from  him,  but  I  can  not ; 
and,  if  I  live  a  hundred  years  away  from  him,  at  the  end 
of  that  time  my  arms  will  be  just  as  empty  and  my  heart 
just  as  freshly  broken  as  on  the  day  he  goes.  I  can  never 
become  used  to  being  without  him ;  therefore  I  had  bet- 
ter have  all  of  him  that  I  can  in  this  last  week.  I  will 
myself  do  everything  for  him,  and  I  will  give  you  time 
and  money  to  prepare  for  your  journey.  Oh,  Annie,  if 


THE   FELMERES.  349 

I  were  only  you!  Will  you  do  all  you  can  for  him, 
Annie,  just  as  though  I  were  by  ?  or  more  than  that,  just 
as  though  he  were  your  own  child  ?  You  shall  be  paid 
any  money,  Annie,  if  you  will." 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,"  the  girl  answered,  kneeling  by  her 
chair,  "  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  the  child,  and  not  for  any 
more  money  than  I  now  get,  but  because  I  love  him. 
All  his  life  I  have  taken  care  of  him,  and  I  promise  to 
do  for  him  as  if  he  was  mine ;  and  I  promise  you,  Mrs. 
Felmere,  honestly.  I  do."  Then  the  girl  went  down,  and 
Helen  sat  there  alone  with  her  child,  singing  to  him 
softly,  and  soothing  him  to  sleep. 

Only  a  week  more,  she  thought — only  a  week  more, 
and  he  would  be  gone ;  her  heart  would  be  broken,  her 
arms  empty !  She  would  go  back  to  old  Jane  at  Fel- 
mere, and  try  to  find  some  rest — go  back  to  her  old  life, 
to  the  old  books  and  walks,  to  the  old  studio  !  She  bent 
her  head  until  it  rested  on  the  child,  and  let  her  thoughts 
float  back  to  the  old  things  and  places.  She  would  go 
back  just  as  though  she  were  again  the  old  Helen  Fel- 
mere ;  she  would  absorb  herself  in  study  and  in  paint- 
ing ;  she  would  make  herself  a  name  in  the  world  of  art, 
so  that  when  her  son  heard  of  her  he  could  be  proud 
of  her ! 

She  wondered  if  anything  at  Felmere  had  changed ; 
if  Jane  had  moved  the  book  her  father  had  left  open  on 
the  library  table — the  last  thing  his  eyes  had  read.  She 
wondered  if  her  little  childish  garden  was  still  there ;  if 
Peter  had  kept  it  in  order  for  her ;  and  if  the  martins 
came  as  they  used  to  do  in  the  summer  evenings  to  fly 
about  the  old  house.  And  would  the  marsh-hens  quarrel, 
and  the  bitterns  cry  as  sadly  as  in  the  old  times  ?  Of 


350  THE   FELMERES. 

course  they  would,  and  she  only  would  be  changed. 
Jane  would  seem  a  little  older,  and  there  would  be  a  little 
more  moss  on  the  old  tombstones,  and  a  few  more  rocks 
fallen  from  the  old  wall.  It  would  be  just  the  same,  and 
she  would  go  back  like  a  spirit  from  another  world — like 
a  ghost  haunting  old  scenes  !  The  river  would  be  sing- 
ing the  same  song,  and  the  sea  making  the  same  moan  ; 
and  the  maple-tree  would  still  be  keeping  its  lonely 
watch  among  the  dead !  And  the  winds  would  still 
wander  all  about  the  flats,  and  whisper,  to  her  the  same 
old  stories.  And  the  storms,  and  sunshine,  and  seasons, 
and  years  would  come  and  go,  and  she  would  live  there 
desolate  and  a  mystery  ! — live  there  until  her  hair  grew 
white  and  her  strength  forsook  her — until  death  should 
come  and  lay  a  friendly  hand  upon  her,  and  she  could  go 
to  rest  beside  her  father !  This  would  be  her  life  !  Could 
she  live  it  ?  Alas,  she  could  not  help  herself  !  And  yet 
Felix  had  said  she  would  be  happy  somewhere.  Poor 
Felix  !  how  could  he  know  ?  He  had  only  put  his  hope 
in  the  shape  of  a  prophecy  !  Alas  !  she  had  no  hopes  of 
any  happiness;  she  was  born  to  misery,  and  the  fates 
were  all  against  her !  Better,  if  she  could,  to  stand  quiet 
and  not  even  make  a  sign  ! 


THE   FELMERES.  351 


CHAPTER  X. 

"Two  eyes  with  coin-weights  shut, 

And  all  tears  cease  : 
Two  lips  where  grief  is  mute, 
And  wrath  at  peace." 

THE  last  day,  a  dark  and  rainy  one,  came  in  its  turn, 
and  all  things  were  in  readiness  for  the  journey.  "With 
her  own  hands  Helen  had  made  every  arrangement  for 
the  child ;  she  forgot  nothing  that  could  possibly  add  to 
his  comfort,  or  that  could  possibly  lessen  the  trouble  he 
would  give  his  attendants;  only  asking  in  return  that 
the  nurse  should  be  sometimes  allowed  to  send  her  a  few 
of  the  child's  worn-out  garments  as  a  remembrance  of 
him ! 

And  now  the  company  had  assembled  in  the  library 
— all  the  Jourdans,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tolman,  Mrs.  Van- 
zandt,  and  Percival  Felmere.  The  luggage  had  all  gone 
on  in  advance,  the  carriages  stood  in  readiness,  and  the 
party  only  waited  for  mother  and  child  to  come  in. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  she  came  among  them, 
calm  and  still  as  though  all  life  had  gone  from  her.  She 
took  the  child  and  held  him  while  the  service  went  on 
— held  him  close  through  the  prayers,  through  the  prom- 
ises and  answers — .until  her  brother  paused  and  held  out 
his  arms  to  take  him  !  She  clutched  the  child  closer  and 
drew  back.  This  meant  for  ever !  Once  that  cross  upon 
his  brow,  and  they  were  eternally  separated  !  She  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  like  some  poor  hunted  animal. 
Would  no  one  have  any  mercy  on  her  I 


352  THE  FELMERES. 

Mrs.  Yanzandt  hid  her  face ;  others  turned  away  ;  a 
perfect  silence  reigned ! 

One  deep  sobbing  sigh  sounded  through  the  room — 
a  sigh  as  though  from  the  rending  apart  of  soul  and  body ; 
that  was  all,  and  she  put  the  child  in  her  brother's  arms. 
She  stood  as  rigid  as  stone,  and  watched  him  as  he  was 
baptized  in  the  name  of  the  Trinity — "  signed  with  the 
sign  of  the  cross,"  and  pledged  a  "  soldier  of  Christ " ! 
And  when  he  held  out  his  little  arms  to  come  back  to 
her,  she  turned  away  and  pushed  the  nurse  forward  in 
her  place.  ''  Take  him  to  the  carriage,  or  he  will  cry  for 
me,"  she  said ;  and  the  nurse  obeyed. 

Then  there  were  hurried  farewells,  and  gathering  up 
of  shawls  and  hats ;  for  they  were  late  and  might  be  left ; 
they  had  waited  so  long  on  the  service  that  only  a  few 

v  •/ 

moments  remained  in  which  to  reach  the  far-away  docks. 

"  Take  me  away,"  Helen  whispered  to  her  brother,  all 
the  while  putting  on  her  hat  as  though  in  a  frenzy.  "  I 
have  heard  one  carriage  go ;  take  me  away  before  the 
rest  leave,  or  it  will  kill  me !  " 

Once  down  the  front  steps,  she  paused  to  whisper  one 
last  charge  and  farewell  to  Arthur  as  he  stood  on  the 
step  of  the  last  carriage,  where  were  Mrs.  Felmere  and 
the  child ;  then  Percival  hurried  her  off ! 

But  they  were  not  quick  enough :  only  a  few  steps 
farther  on  they  walked,  when  the  last  carriage  rolled 
swiftly  past  them  !  One  sharp  cry,  "  My  child  ! " — one 
quick  spring — one  moment's  mad  clutching  at  the  wheels 
— and  the  poor,  wild  creature  lay  among  the  trampling 
horses  and  crushing  wheels,  helpless  in  the  hurrying 
crowd  ! 


THE  FELMERES.  353 

There  were  hushed  voices,  and  hurrying  steps,  and 
horrified  faces  in  the  sumptuous  house  where  Death  wait- 
ed so  patiently  at  the  door  !  Messengers  came  and  went, 
but  too  late  to  stop  the  travelers.  Physicians  came  and 
went,  and  Death  stood  there  unheeding !  At  last  there 
came  silence,  broken  only  by  the  heavy  breathing  and 
now  and  then  the  low,  weak  moan  of  the  beautiful, 
wrecked  creature. 

The  brother  watched — watched  and  prayed  in  an 
agony  of  fear !  What  if  she  should  die  before  he  had 
time  to  make  one  more  appeal  for  her  soul — before  he 
had  time  to  plead  yet  again  for  her  salvation  ?  So  he 
watched  until  night  fell,  and  only  a  dim  night-lamp  flick- 
ered in  the  room.  Then  the  moans  ceased,  and  the  breath 
came  and  went  more  gently.  Was  this  death  ?  he  won- 
dered. He  bent  over  her,  with  his  hand  resting  on  the 
poor  tired  heart.  Would  God  not  grant  her  yet  a  little 
time  ?  The  wind  outside  was  rising,  and  rattled  the  win- 
dows as  it  went — shook  them  like  some  angry  hand  seek- 
ing entrance;  and  the  rain  came  in  great  swirls  and 
rushes  that  in  the  silence  of  the  night  the  lonely  watcher 
heard  hissing  through  the  air. 

Slowly  the  sad,  pain-stricken  eyes  opened  under  his 
gaze,  and  a  whisper  came  to  his  ears : 

"  Will  it  wreck  the  ship  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  danger." 

How  heavily  her  heart  beat,  as  though  every  stroke 
was  a  labor — how  heavily  and  slow  !  There  was  no  time 
to  lose,  and  yet  he  could  not  speak  ;  the  wistful  gaze  of 
those  dying  eyes  seemed  to  paralyze  his  heart  to  silence ! 
Then  she  spoke  again  : 


354:  THE   FELMERES. 

"  I  am  dying  !  ah,  I  am  glad — glad ! " 

"  And  will  you  leave  me  without  hope  for  your  soul  ? " 
broke  from  the  brother  in  a  sudden  cry  that  smote  sharp- 
ly on  the  silence.  "  Oh,  my  sister,  will  you  die  without 
saying  '  I  believe '  ? " 

There  was  a  little  negative  movement  of  the  head, 
and  a  whisper : 

"  I  can  not  leave  my  father." 

"  And  your  child  ? " 

A  wild  light  of  pain  came  into  the  eyes,  a  shiver 
seemed  to  go  over  the  poor,  crushed  body,  there  was  a 
moment's  waiting,  then  the  dying  hand  closed  over  his 
and  a  moan  broke  from  the  white  lips,  rising  high,  and 
tremulous  through  weakness. 

"  I  can  not  leave  my  father ;  it  is  too  late — too 
late ! "  There  was  a  pause,  a  catching  of  the  breath, 
then  a  whisper :  "  Your  God  will  not  save  me  ;  I  have 
not  learned  to  love  Him  ;  I  have  defied  Him  ! " 

"  God  will  forgive,"  the  brother  said.  "  lie  who 
wore  the  crown  of  thorns  has  felt  and  known  all  your 
sorrow ;  only  lay  your  hand  in  His,  and  He  will  lead  you 
into  rest ! " 

Ah,  how  eager  and  hurried  his  words  were  !  and  the 
answer  came  so  weak  and  slow,  the  voice  was  so  weary, 
as  though  she  wished  to  die  in  silence. 

"  I  can  not  say  I  believe.  I  only  fear  losing  my 
child!" 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God  enough  to  fear  Him  ? "  the 
pleading  voice  went  on.  "  Only  say  '  I  believe.'  Oh,  for 
the  love  I  bear  you,  do  not  leave  me  hopeless ! " 

"  I  can  not  leave  my  father." 

On  his  knees  by  the  bedside  the  brother  prayed  aloud 


THE   FELMERES.  355 

— cried  out  to  God  in  his  agony  for  mercy  on  the  blind, 
starved  soul,  that  through  all  its  days  had  wandered  in 
the  dark  land  of  unbelief !  Then  he  bowed  his  head 
on  the  clinging,  dying  hands  close  clasped  within  his  own, 
and  his  words  fell  gently  : 

"  For  your  child's  sake  ? " 

A  little  sob  broke  from  her. 

"  You  took  him  from  me,"  she  moaned,  "  and  signed 
him  with  the  cross  !  " 

"  That  cross  need  not  separate  you  from  him.  Only 
say  '  I  believe ' ;  only  pray  that  God  in  His  mercy  will 
save  your  soul  this  night !  Think  of  suffering  through 
all  the  waste  of  eternity,  a  lost,  hopeless  soul !  Think  of 
meeting  God  face  to  face  before  this  hour  goes — meeting 
Him  alone,  and  without  help ! " 

Ah,  the  strained  gaze  of  the  eyes  looking  up  into  his; 
the  burning,  eager  intelligence  that  shone  in  them ;  the 
terrible  flickering  light  of  death  that  seemed  to  rise  and 
fall  as  life  ebbed !  How  the  poor  hands  clung  to  him, 
and  how  the  fading  mind  seemed  to  strive  after  his 
words !  He  was  running  a  fearful  race  with  Time  and 
Death  for  this  immortal  soul,  and  his  strength  was 
almost  gone ! 

"  I  have  prayed  for  you,"  he  cried,  "  and  I  know  that 
God  has  heard  me.      I  have  carried  your  soul  to  the 
mercy-seat,  and  Christ  I  know  will  save  it.     You  called, 
on  God  in  your  agony,  and  I  know  he  heard  you  1 " 

There  was  a  wild  striving  to  push  his  hands  away, 
and  a  cry  went  up  that  clove  the  silence  like  a  sword  ! 

"  Hush  I  hush !  You  shall  not  drag  me  from  my 
father !  Even  now  his  hands  hold  me,  and  my  child  is 
gone — oh,  my  baby ! " 


356  THE   FELMERES. 

Ah,  the  piteous  breaking  of  the  dying  voice — the 
wail  that  came  with  this  bitterest  memory !  Then  the 
weary  iteration :  "  I  can  not  leave  my  father."  The  poor 
dying  heart  was  still  loyal ;  the  poor  struggling  soul  still 
clung  to  its  oath ! 

And  still  the  brother  pleaded  : 

"Our  father  chose  his  own  path;  he  put  aside  the 
light ;  he  blighted  your  life  ! '  Oh,  my  sister,  do  not  fol- 
low him !  You  have  gone  far  enough  through  all  this 
waste  of  hopeless  years ;  do  not  cling  to  him  through 
eternity !  Say  '  I  believe ' — for  your  child's  sake  say  it. 
Or  else  for  ever  wander  soul-stricken  and  desolate,  with 
him  who  has  murdered  your  soul — wandering  with  long- 
ing cries  for  help  that  can  not  come  !  My  sister,  think ! " 

"  So  let  it  be,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have  defied  your  God !  " 
The  voice  was  very  faint ;  each  breath  seemed  the  last. 

"  God  is  merciful ! "  the  brother  cried ;  "  He  will  for- 
give— He  can  save ! " 

"I" — then  the  voice  failed;  the  beautiful,  death- 
darkened  eyes  looked  at  him  mournfully  like  some  strick- 
en animal  that  longs  for  words  with  impotent  despair ; 
but  speech  was  gone !  Ah,  how  he  prayed — wildly — de- 
spairingly ! 

Outside  the  storm  howled,  and  far  away,  out  on  the 
wide  sea,  the  ship  tossed  and  the  child  wailed  in  its  sleep. 

And  as  the  brother  prayed,  an  awful  terror  gathered 
about  the  face  and  in  the  dying  eyes,  as  though  some 
horror  laid  hold  upon  her. 

"  Have  mercy,  Lord !  "  he  cried ;  "  have  mercy ! " 

A  mute  upraising  of  the  dying  hands — a  little  gur- 
gling cry — a  shiver!  And  out  on  the  wild  storm-wind 
the  soul  took  flight ! 


THE  FELMERES.  357 

Once  more  the  grating  door  ot  the  Felmere  vault 
swung  open,  and  Helen  Felmere  was  laid  to  rest  beside 
her  father.  Old  Jane  and  Peter  shed  some  honest  tears, 
and  Percival  stood  there  crushed  and  broken.  It  was 
not  long,  then  all  left  her  and  went  their  ways ;  and,  as 
in  the  days  gone  by,  the  wild  winds  wailed  about  the 
desolate  flats  and  lonely  church,  the  only  voice  to  sing 
her  requiem. 

In  the  summer  evening  a  stranger  came — a  stranger 
with  sad  gray  eyes  and  a  heavy,  step.  He  paused  be- 
neath the  maple-tree  and  on  the  river-bank ;  he  sat  a 
long  hour  in  the  library,  and  up  stairs  in  the  studio  he 
shed  some  bitter  tears  over  a  little  sketch  he  took  from 
off  the  wall — a  little  sketch  he  had  tacked  there  long 
years  ago.  Then,  lingering  in  the  church  until  nightfall, 
he  went  his  lonely  way. 


THE     END. 


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